Chapter 2 - THE GREENWICH HOUSE OF CARDS
The Sterling estate in Greenwich was an architectural monument to old money and silent intimidation, featuring a circular driveway, a library nobody read in, and a sprawling kitchen where Vivian routinely held court over her social calendar. Growing up in Ohio with a teacher mother and an electrician father, I had learned early on that wealth without integrity was just expensive scaffolding. Whenever I visited the Greenwich mansion, Vivian made subtle, calculated efforts to remind me of my lower economic status—from pointing out how my handbag was last season’s model to casually mentioning how much it cost to maintain the estate's private landscaping.
Holt would always offer an awkward, apologetic smile behind his mother’s back, whispering, “You know how she is, Ren. Just let it roll off.” But letting it roll off was how bullies like Vivian expanded their territory. Walking through those high-ceilinged hallways in the weeks leading up to the wedding, I didn't feel intimidated anymore; I felt like an auditor conducting a risk assessment on a failing corporate entity. Every sneer, every patronizing remark, and every deliberate slight was cataloged in my mind, perfectly aligning with the financial corruption documents sitting locked in my secure Manhattan apartment safe.
