- SIERRAThe heels I was wearing were a three-thousand-dollar mistake. They looked fantastic, black silk, sharp enough to stab a man through the foot, but after twenty minutes on the marble floor of the Boston Plaza Hotel ballroom, I was ready to commit federal crimes just to sit down.The room was a loud, glittering cage. Crystal lighting rattled to the bass of the ambient house music, and the air smelled of expensive perfume, champagne, and the ozone heat coming off a hundred different camera flashes. Every major tech reporter from New York, every high-society parasite from Beacon Hill, and the entire executive board of the Wellington shipping lanes were packed shoulder-to-shoulder under the high ceilings. They were drinking my liquor, eating my three-ounce caviar tartlets, and waiting to see the Maison Nova Creative agency take a public dive.I took pride in it because I built the agency myself from the ground up through my own hard work, without relying on the Figueroas or the Zi
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