Chapter 4 - The Fall of the PrincessWhile Arthur Vance was discovering the horrifying extent of his corporate ruin in the boardroom upstairs, his daughter was experiencing a very different kind of reality check down in the guest lobby.
Veronica Vance stood by the front revolving doors, her designer handbag clutched tightly in her manicured hands, her face flushed with humiliation and fury as she tried to summon a rideshare on her phone.
"What do you mean, no vehicles available in your area?!" Veronica shrieked at her screen, stamping her Christian Louboutin heel against the pristine marble floor. "Do you know who I am?! I am Veronica Vance! My father owns half of—"
"Excuse me, Miss Vance," a polite, firm security guard interrupted, stepping directly into her path.
Veronica glared at him, her eyes flashing with venom. "Get out of my way before I have my father fire you too, you pathetic rent-a-cop."
"Your father's security clearance and corporate privileges were revoked twenty minutes ago by order of Director Reed," the guard replied with icy professional courtesy. "Furthermore, your permanent hotel account has been deactivated. You are no longer welcome on the premises."
"You can't kick me out!" Veronica screamed, her voice echoing through the opulent multi-story lobby, drawing the stares of wealthy guests and passing bellhops. "This is a public hotel! I demand to speak to the manager! I demand—"
"There is no manager who will help you, Miss Vance," a smooth, calm voice echoed from the grand staircase behind her.
Veronica spun around.
I stood on the landing of the marble stairs, looking down at her from above, my obsidian pantsuit catching the brilliant light of the crystal chandelier.
Veronica’s face twisted into an ugly, contorted sneer of pure hatred. "You! You little conniving trash! You set this up, didn't you?! You sneaked into my father's hotel like a common thief, played dress-up as a maid, and staged a hostile takeover just to humiliate me?!"
I walked slowly down the stairs, my heels clicking rhythmically against the stone steps, stopping just a few feet away from her.
"I didn't sneak in, Veronica," I said calmly, my voice carrying effortlessly across the lobby. "I applied through standard human resources under my legal name, passed your background screening, and worked every single shift assigned to me. The only one who treated me like trash because of a uniform... was you."
"I'll ruin you!" Veronica shrieked, lunging forward as if she wanted to claw my eyes out.
Before she could take two steps, two large security operatives stepped in, gently but firmly pinning her arms to her sides and escorting her backward toward the revolving doors.
"Let me go! Do you know who my family is?! You can't touch me! Let go of me!" she screamed, kicking and thrashing as she was dragged out onto the public sidewalk of Wilshire Boulevard, where a flock of paparazzi—tipped off by our legal team—instantly swarmed her with camera flashes.
I watched through the glass doors as Los Angeles's most entitled socialite was publicly ejected from the very hotel she had terrorized for years.
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I turned around, walking back toward the private elevators, knowing that the real work was only just beginning.
The Skyline Grand was finally clean. Now, it was time to rebuild it.
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