The road spiraling down from the Hill Estates was a ribbon of grey splashed through a forest of manicured oak and maple. Inside the Town Car, the world was silent, save for the faint, exuberant buzz leaking from Vivian's left earbud.
She leaned her head against the cool leather of the headrest, watching the sprawling estates of Springbrook's elite shrink in the rearview mirror.
"...and you're telling me it's a coincidence?" the podcaster's voice rasped in her ear. He sounded like he'd spent the last decade shouting into an abyss. "The 'Plutocrat shiftiness' is in full wiggle, guys. You think that hurricane in the gulf was atmospheric pressure? No. It was a targeted strike on the supply chain by the people who would like to charge you for breathing their air."
Clang. Clang.
The sound was sharp, metallic—like a spoon hitting a pot.
"Wake the fuck up," the host whispered, his voice suddenly intimate. "Open those beautiful eyes. I'm tapping on the glass. They're trying to keep you ignorant with the PikFlip hotties."
Vivian sighed, her eyes tracking a hawk circling over the valley. She knew the man was likely sitting in a basement in his mother's house with a colander strapped to his chin, but the sheer fantasy of his rhetoric acted as a soothing balm for her restless mind.
The car glided into the downtown core, the glass towers of the city rising like obsidian teeth. As the driver pulled up to a curb outside a cafe, Vivian tapped her phone to pause the noise.
"Thank you, Travis," she said.
Inside, the cafe smelled of toasted beans and expensive bitterness. She stood in line, her thumb hovering over the play button, itching to hear more about how the Hills residents were seeding clouds with micro-plastics.
"Welcome to BeanStock! What can I help you with today? Oh—I haven't seen you in a while. The usual?"
Vivian gave Dakota a pleasant smile. Every time she saw her, she wondered if Dakota would ever recognize her. But it had been years, and Dakota never did.
"Yes, but let's add an extra shot today," she told the barista.
"Any fun plans for the day?" Dakota asked as she prepared the coffee, smiling brightly as Vivian dropped $20 into the tip jar. Like usual.
Shaking her head, Vivian took the cup from her outstretched hand. "Just another normal day! Bye!"
As she turned to leave, she nearly collided with a wall of charcoal wool.
"Careful, V," a voice smooth as aged bourbon rumbled.
She looked up. Gunner Westbrook stood there, looking every bit the handsome, muscular flirt he always seemed to be. His suit was tailored to a degree that felt intrusive, his gold watch catching the morning light.
"Gunner," she said, regaining her balance. "Doing your own labor?" She didn't believe in coincidence. And she would bet a million dollars that Gunner never went out to buy his own coffee. But she didn't mind playing along for the moment to figure out what his angle was.
"A rare expedition," he chuckled. He didn't move toward her or away; he just occupied the space with the effortless assurance that he was more than welcome no matter where he was. "There's a polo match this weekend..."
"And," she said, her tone neutral. The problem with attending events that drew the attention of the Hill was that it raised her chances of running into her parents. Beyond a few phone calls and texts, she hadn't physically seen her parents in almost two years, and she wasn't looking to break her streak. The longer she hung around Springbrook, the more likely it was that her parents would become far more involved in her life.
"I'll collect you on Saturday afternoon."
"I'm not as easy to acquire as your shiny little car," Vivian said, her eyes flicking to the matte black Aston Martin parked in front of the cafe.
Gunner flashed his charming smile, his eyes locking onto hers. "As you pointed out... I love *hard* labor." His gaze slid from her face, roaming her body unashamedly before snapping back up to meet her eyes. "Be ready by noon."
Taking a sip of her coffee, Vivian couldn't understand what he wanted. His interest didn't make any sense. "Only if you can find me," she smirked, stepping around him, comfortable in the knowledge that his meaningless flirting didn't amount to anything.
He watched her saunter away, back to her vehicle. As she climbed inside, one of the men in her entourage—Fletcher—paused by the car door. He caught Gunner's gaze and gave him a single, subtle nod of acknowledgment. Vivian's window wound down as she gave Gunner a polite wave goodbye before Travis pulled away.
If only she knew she couldn't hide from him.
Back in the car, after a long drive, Travis delivered Vivian to her condo in Greenwood. The 'casual' encounter was immediately overwritten by the blue light of her laptop. For the next two hours, the world was replaced by the grid-lines of a Zoom call.
Her grandfather Leonardo's face filled the screen—a map of deep-set wrinkles and iron-willed expectations.
"The merger in the Eastern sector, Vivian," he barked, not bothering with a greeting. "If the logistical costs exceed the three percent margin, do we pivot or do we absorb?"
Vivian didn't pause. "We absorb, but we restructure the debt through the holding company in the GSA. It's a short-term hit for a long-term monopoly on the corridor."
"And the environmental liabilities?" her grandmother Eleanor's voice chirped from off-camera, followed by the sound of keys clicking. A list of emails appeared in Vivian's inbox—forty-two unread messages from 'E. Kane' regarding the family estate's quarterly taxes.
The education was relentless. It wasn't a conversation; it was a barrage. Her eyes felt dry and painful from looking at the screen and reading endless amounts of documents.
When the screen finally went black, the silence of the condo felt heavy, ringing with the echoes of her grandfather's demands. Vivian rubbed her temples, needing to shake off the clinical chill of the "Eastern sector" and debt restructuring. She grabbed her phone, desperate for the mindless noise of the city. She understood her grandfather wanted to make sure that she knew everything about the business, even before she ever stepped foot through the doors.
She took the private elevator to the ground floor. The doors slid open to a view of the city, but she barely looked. In the lobby, she ran into Koda as she tried to leave for some fresh air.
"Vivian! You look like shit," Koda said, stopping mid-stride with a tablet in his hand. "Aren't we supposed to be the relaxed ones?"
Chuckling, she shrugged. "Must not be good at it," she replied.
"Truly," Koda laughed. "Listen, I'm hosting a small dinner at the restaurant downstairs tomorrow. Nothing formal. Join us if you can."
"Maybe," she told him, unwilling to fully commit.
Once outside, Travis opened the backseat of her Town Car, ready to drive her where she needed to go. She shook her head, pointing down the street. There was a restaurant a block away. There was no point in driving in this bumper-to-bumper traffic.
Mr. Smart stuck closest to Vivian as the other bodyguards kept their distance, following their wandering mistress.
Her phone vibrated consistently. Checking her messages, she saw a few different people were bothering her, but she was determined not to answer any of them. She was people'd out at the moment.
Mimi: Checking in, Xen is boring me.
Carrie: Are you coming back tonight?
Conrad: Be in the country this weekend.
Of all the messages, only one of them stood out to her. She couldn't imagine why her father wanted her to be in the country this weekend. She debated messaging him back for information, but it wouldn't change anything. If he wanted her to be somewhere, that was all there was to it.