By midnight, the legal work had started. By sunrise, the first buyer was at the table. A luxury hotel group had been trying to acquire that bungalow for years. I accepted less than it was worth because speed was worth more to me than vanity.
By the next evening, the sale was done. By the morning after that, the staff had been paid full severance and released with glowing references. By the third afternoon, the locks had been changed, the gate codes wiped, and every one of Robert’s little privileges had disappeared.
He landed in California that night with his bride. I knew the moment he touched down because my phone lit up with declined-card alerts:
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Airport lounge.
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Rental counter.
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Jewelry boutique in Beverly Hills.
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Restaurant in Santa Monica.
I imagined Tiffany standing there in white, reaching for some glittering little trophy while the cashier politely said the card had been declined.
