THEY PINNED ME TO THE FLOOR AT MY OWN FATHER’S GALA — BUT MY WICKED STEPSISTER DIDN’T KNOW WHO WAS ABOUT TO WALK THROUGH THOSE DOORS

While Eleanor sat in a maximum-security federal holding cell, her daughter, Veronica, was experiencing a spectacular, humiliating fall from grace.

Veronica had not been arrested at the gala for murder, but Agent Thorne had explicitly informed me that she was heavily implicated in the financial side of the fraud.

Two days after the gala, I returned to the foundation headquarters. I was sitting at my father's desk, reviewing the catastrophic damage Eleanor had done to the veteran housing fund, when my office phone rang.

"Ms. Sterling," the security desk in the lobby reported. "Your step-sister is here. She is demanding to speak with you."

I leaned back in the heavy leather chair, feeling a cold, clinical curiosity wash over me.

"Send her up," I instructed smoothly. "But have two guards escort her, and remain in the room."

Five minutes later, the double doors of my office swung open.

Veronica stumbled into the room. She was completely unrecognizable from the glamorous, arrogant woman who had worn a high-slit black gown at the gala just forty-eight hours ago.

She wore a baggy, faded sweatshirt and dark sunglasses to hide her puffy, red eyes. Her perfectly styled hair was a messy, tangled bird's nest. Her bank accounts had been frozen by the feds, her credit cards were declined, and she had been officially evicted from the luxury condo my father’s money had paid for.

"Scarlett, please," Veronica sobbed, pulling off her sunglasses to reveal dark, exhausted circles under her eyes.

She didn't look angry. She looked utterly, pathetically desperate.

"Please what, Veronica?" I asked, my voice completely devoid of any empathy. I kept my hands folded neatly on the desk.

"I have no money. I have nowhere to go. My friends won't even return my calls," Veronica wailed, stepping closer to the desk before the two security guards stepped forward, blocking her path. "You have to give me an allowance from the estate! I am technically still family!"

I stared at her, marveling at the sheer, unadulterated audacity of her request.

"You stood over me with a heavy wine bottle, fully intending to smash my skull in front of two hundred people," I reminded her, my voice dropping to a freezing, lethal whisper. "You laughed when your mother dragged me out to be locked in a psychiatric ward."

"I was just following her orders! I was scared of her too!" Veronica lied, desperation making her voice shrill.

"You wore a fifty-thousand-dollar dress bought with money stolen from homeless veterans," I stated flatly, picking up a pen and returning to my paperwork. "You are not family, Veronica. You are a parasite. And the host has officially cut you off."

"You can't do this!" she screamed, stomping her foot like a petulant toddler.

"Security," I said, without even looking up from my documents. "Escort Miss Vance out of the building. If she returns, call the police and have her arrested for trespassing."