Chapter 7: Sienna's Visit
At 8:30 the next morning, my penthouse intercom buzzed.
I was at my kitchen island, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit, reviewing Vance Construction's bloated payroll ledgers on my tablet. The concierge’s voice came through the speaker, hesitant and apologetic.
"Ms. Vance, I'm sorry to disturb you, but your sister is in the lobby. She doesn't have an appointment, but she's... well, she's refusing to leave until she sees you."
"Send her up," I said calmly.
Two minutes later, my private elevator pinged, and the doors slid open. Sienna stepped out. She was wearing sunglasses indoors, clutching her designer handbag like a life preserver. She looked around my three-thousand-square-foot penthouse—with its floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the skyline and private art collection—with an expression of sheer, resentful shock.
"Nice place," she muttered, pulling off her sunglasses. Her eyes were red. "I guess babysitting our kids wasn't glamorous enough for your lifestyle."
"Did you come here to insult me, Sienna, or did you come here to beg?" I asked, not looking up from my tablet.
She flinched, then took a step forward, her voice trembling with righteous indignation. "My kids are devastated, Elena. Do you care about that at all? Maya cried herself to sleep last night because I had to tell her we aren't going to Hawaii. You punished innocent children just to prove a point!"
I finally set my tablet down and looked at her.
"I didn't punish your children, Sienna. I stopped subsidizing their parents," I said smoothly. "For six years, David's boutique marketing agency has been billing Vance Construction ten thousand dollars a month for 'consulting services' that don't exist. That ten thousand dollars paid your mortgage."
Sienna’s jaw dropped. "That’s... that’s legitimate business..."
"It’s embezzlement," I corrected coldly. "And when I take controlling interest of the firm at noon today, that retainer is being terminated. Along with your company gas cards and the health insurance policy Dad carried for your family under the table."
"You're a monster," she whispered, tears spilling over her lashes. "You're our family, and you're leaving us with nothing."
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"I am leaving you with exactly what you earned," I said, standing up and pointing toward the open elevator doors. "Now get out of my home. If I ever hear you use my nieces and nephews as guilt trips again, I will have our auditors examine David’s personal tax returns for the last five years."
Sienna didn't say another word. She turned on her heel and practically ran into the elevator, the doors closing on her ruined entitlement.
