Chapter 3

That evening, Bianca added me to a WhatsApp group called Claire’s Countdown.

My parents were members, along with the Moretti relatives and several of Bianca’s friends.

Messages immediately filled the screen.

[I bet she comes back tonight.]

[She owes one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. She won’t last a week.]

[Give her three days. The first payment will bring her to her senses.]

Uncle Enzo created a poll:

When will Claire crawl back?

Two hours

Twenty-four hours

Three days

One week

Bianca selected twenty-four hours and posted a bank receipt showing that she had transferred one hundred thousand dollars into the betting pool.

[She’s probably sitting beside her suitcases, waiting for Mom and Dad to beg her to return.]

The replies came quickly.

[Bianca knows her best.]

[Claire, vote for yourself.]

[How long before you apologize?]

Both my parents were online.

I waited for one of them to leave the group or tell everyone to stop.

Neither did.

After several minutes, my mother finally wrote:

[Enough. Don’t be cruel.]

Uncle Enzo replied almost immediately.

[If we don’t expose her, she’ll think her performance worked.]

My mother said nothing else.

The humiliation was not that Bianca called me a gold digger. She had done that for three years.

It was seeing my parents remain in a group created to bet on how quickly I would come crawling back to them.

Bianca sent a voice message.

“Claire isn’t leaving. She knows what the Moretti name is worth. She’s only trying to frighten Mom and Dad into offering her more.”

Champagne glasses and laughing emojis appeared beneath it.

I left the group.

Ten seconds later, Bianca added me back.

[Too ashamed to watch?]

Then my father posted a message.

Return before noon tomorrow and apologize for this spectacle. I will give you one percent of Moretti Holdings. If you refuse, there will be no second offer.

The group erupted.

[Don Moretti is far too generous.]

[One percent? She’ll be home before breakfast.]

Several people changed their votes to two hours.

I stared at my father’s message.

The shares were not an apology. They were bait.

If I returned, Bianca would win the bet. My family would say I had abandoned my pride the moment enough money was offered, and everything they believed about me would become true.

My father had turned my place in the family into something I had to purchase with public surrender.

I left the group again and blocked every member.

There was one option they hadn't considered.

Never.

A new email appeared in my inbox.

Western Corridor Recovery and Restructuring Program: Final Appointment Contract

My position was listed at the top:

Chief Restructuring Strategist

The three-year appointment would begin the morning after next.

I read the contract once and signed my name.

Claire Vale.

Not Claire Moretti.

Only Claire Vale.

Then I booked the first flight out of Greyhaven.

The betting continued in a conversation I could no longer see. They were all waiting for me to surrender for one percent of the company.

They did not know that in twenty-four hours, I would be beyond the reach of every Moretti in that group.