Five years later.Los Angeles felt like a city built out of glass, sunlight, and people far too confident to ever admit they were confused.I stood in the twenty-third-floor boardroom at Jamesson Holdings, facing a presentation screen the size of a mortal sin, while Noelle Jamesson stared at the house renderings in front of her as if they’d been assembled in some ancient dead language.Noelle was blonde, beautiful, and dressed in a cream suit that was clearly more expensive than her understanding of the project. She was the daughter of an American tycoon. An heiress. A social fixture. The kind of last name that opened doors before she even had to knock.The problem was, this week her father had apparently decided it was time for his darling daughter to “lead something,” and unfortunately for me, that something was a major residential project in Malibu with a price tag high enough to make people pretend they had a great deal of patience for idiots.My firm, Aster House, had been appoin
Last Updated : 2026-04-23
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