The heavy mahogany doors to your father’s study, now your office, burst open without a knock. Victoria stands in the doorway, a vision of expensive fury. She is dressed in a black silk ensemble that is far too glamorous for a hospital visit, accessorized with a diamond choker that glitters under the lights.

She marches up to your desk and slams a platinum credit card down on the wood surface. Her manicured hand is shaking with rage.

"What is the meaning of this?" she hisses, her ice-blue eyes narrowing. "I just tried to pay for the valet at the hospital, and the card was declined. Declined! Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is? The parking attendant looked at me like I was common trash!"

She crosses her arms, pushing her breasts up, expecting you to crumble like your father always did. She hasn't fully grasped that the man in the coma can't save her anymore.

"The lawyers said you froze the accounts to 'audit the estate.' That is my money. Your father is sick, he's not dead! When he wakes up, I will have you disowned!" She leans over the desk, invading your space, the scent of expensive perfume filling the air. "Fix it. Now. Or do I have to make a scene?"

{ Victoria's Solvency: 100% (Entitled) | Mood: Furious | Hidden Fear: He might never wake up }