Chapter 93
Serena
I was up before sunrise.
Two disasters to handle today. Two completely different battlefields that both required my absolute best.
First: save my grandfather's company from bankruptcy.
Second: figure out exactly what was happening between Lance and Isabella tonight.
The order mattered. Business before... whatever the hell this jealous, possessive thing was that I was feeling.
I dressed carefully—not the conservative, blend-into-the-background outfits I'd worn as Wesley's girlfriend. This was armor. A sharp black blazer that meant business, a white silk blouse, fitted trousers that said I knew exactly what I was worth. Heels that clicked with authority.
The woman in the mirror looked like a CEO. Felt like one too.
By seven-thirty, I was standing in front of the building that used to house Vance Heritage's headquarters. The building my grandfather had purchased forty years ago, back when his company had been the crown jewel of New York's art world.
Except the sign above the entrance didn't say Vance Heritage.
It said "Apex Real Estate Group."
I stood there for a moment, staring at the unfamiliar name, feeling something twist in my chest. Then I pushed through the revolving doors into a lobby that looked nothing like I remembered.
Modern. Sleek. Full of real estate agents in expensive suits and photos of luxury properties plastered across every available surface.
A receptionist looked up as I approached, her smile bright and professional. "Good morning! Welcome to Apex Real Estate. Do you have an appointment? Are you looking to buy or sell?"
I blinked. "This building... isn't this Vance Heritage's headquarters?"
Her smile faltered slightly. "Vance Heritage? Oh, you mean the art company?" She shook her head. "No, they haven't been here in... I want to say almost two years now? Maybe longer."
"Two years," I repeated slowly. "But this was their building. All twenty floors. They owned—"
"Oh no, they only ever rented," the receptionist corrected gently. "And when Mr. Vance—Richard Vance?—when he started having... financial difficulties..." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Gambling problems, from what I heard. His wife tried to keep the business going, but she didn't have the talent for it. They couldn't make rent anymore. Apex took over the lease about eighteen months ago."
I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.
I remembered coming here as a child. Every floor buzzing with activity. Gallery showings. Client meetings. My grandfather walking through these halls like he owned the world—because in this building, he had.
Even three years ago, when things were already declining, there had still been something here. The ghost of what we used to be.
Now there was nothing. Not even a ghost.
"Do you..." I swallowed hard. "Do you know where they moved to?"
The receptionist's expression shifted to something almost pitying. She pointed out the window, across the street. "I think they're over there now. That little building? Second floor, I believe."
I followed her gesture and felt my heart sink further.
"Little" was generous. It was a squat, two-story structure that looked like it had been forgotten sometime in the 1970s and never remembered. Dingy beige paint. Narrow windows. The kind of building you walked past without ever really seeing.
"Thank you," I managed, and left before she could see my expression crack.
---
The sign was there, at least. "Vance Heritage" in letters that had once been gold but were now so faded and peeling they were barely legible. Like someone had tried to erase us and almost succeeded.
The first floor was a disaster. Peeling posters. Faded job listings that looked years old. Dust thick enough to write in. The space had that particular emptiness that suggested no one had been here in a very long time.
I climbed the stairs to the second floor, my heels echoing in the silence.
The door was unlocked. I pushed it open and—
Stopped.
The entire floor was one open space. A handful of ancient computers scattered across cheap desks. Flickering fluorescent lights. Water stains on the ceiling. And in the middle of all this decay, four or five people who looked like they were having the time of their lives doing absolutely nothing.
Two men were tossing a paper ball back and forth. A woman was scrolling through her phone, feet up on her desk. Another guy was eating what looked like yesterday's pizza for breakfast.
None of them were working.
None of them even looked like they remembered what work was.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching. Feeling that familiar anger start to build.
Then I stepped inside, my heels clicking sharply against the worn linoleum.
They all jumped, looking up with identical expressions of surprise.
"Holy shit," the pizza guy said. "We have a visitor. How long has it been since we had a visitor?"
"Three months," the woman with her feet up supplied helpfully. "Remember? That guy who wanted to buy our old printers?"
"Right, right." Pizza guy turned to me, grinning. "So what are you here for?"
Then his expression shifted, like something had just clicked. "Oh, oh—I get it. You heard about the liquidation too, didn't you?" He gestured around with his pizza slice. "Word gets around fast. Smart move coming in early—we've still got some decent stuff left. Chairs, computers, that printer that only jams seventy percent of the time. Everything's negotiable since we're going under anyway."
I stared at him. "Who told you this company is going out of business?"
"Who told us?" He laughed. "Lady, look around. We haven't had a client in months. We haven't even had paychecks in—" he looked at his colleagues, "—what, six weeks?"
"Seven," someone corrected.
"Seven weeks without pay, no clients, no prospects, and a CEO who hasn't shown his face since Christmas." He shrugged. "We're just waiting for the official bankruptcy notice at this point. So yeah, if you want to buy some office equipment cheap, now's the time."
"No one," I said, my voice sharp enough to cut glass, "is selling anything. Because this company isn't going bankrupt."
They all stared at me.
"I'm the new CEO," I continued, letting each word land with weight. "As of yesterday. And I'm here to take over operations. Immediately."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then they burst out laughing.
"Oh man," pizza guy wheezed. "That's good. That's really good. You almost had me for a second—"
"She's not joking."
The voice came from the only closed office in the space—a small room in the corner I hadn't noticed. The door opened, and an elderly man stepped out. White hair, kind eyes, wearing a cardigan that had seen better days.