Deal With The Devilish Wall Street Tycoon

The yellow cab slammed on its brakes outside the iron gates of the Cleveland family estate in Long Island. Ami threw a crumpled hundred-dollar bill at the driver and scrambled out into the rain.

She froze. The massive, ornate iron gates had been violently forced open. One side hung off its hinges.

Ami splashed through the muddy puddles in the driveway. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Three black Range Rovers were parked directly on the front lawn, their heavy tires tearing up her mother's favorite rose beds.

She ran up the steps and pushed open the heavy oak front doors. The grand living room was a disaster zone. Shards of antique porcelain vases covered the expensive rugs.

Four men in cheap, ill-fitting suits and visible neck tattoos were violently ripping priceless oil paintings off the walls, tossing them onto the floor.

"Stop it!" Ami screamed, her voice echoing off the high ceilings.

The man who appeared to be the leader turned around. He had a thick scar across his jaw. He looked Ami up and down, a nasty, predatory smile spreading across his face.

He walked slowly toward her. He pulled a crumpled legal document from his jacket and slapped it hard against Ami's chest.

"You have forty-eight hours," the man growled. "If we don't see the fifty million dollar bridge loan repayment by then, we take everything. Including your mother's life."

Ami's knees wanted to buckle, but she forced her spine straight. She glared at him. "This house is under a trust fund. You have no legal right to seize it."

The man let out a harsh laugh. He reached out and grabbed the lapels of her trench coat, yanking her forward. The sickening smell of stale cigarette smoke and unwashed bodies hit her face.

"The law is just a suggestion for us, sweetheart," he whispered, his spit hitting her cheek. "Accidents happen all the time."

"Let her go!"

The sharp, authoritative voice of Else Odom rang out from the top of the stairs.

Ami looked up. Else was walking down the stairs, heavily leaning on the old butler. Her face was ashen, but her eyes still held the fierce authority of a woman who had run a corporate empire.

The leader let go of Ami's coat. He looked up at Else, whistled disrespectfully, and motioned for his men. They walked out, their heavy boots crunching on the broken porcelain.

The front door slammed shut. Ami immediately ran to the stairs and caught her mother just as Else's legs gave out.

Else gripped Ami's arm tightly and dragged her into the study. She locked the heavy mahogany door behind them. Her hands shook violently as she opened the wall safe and pulled out a thick manila envelope.

She shoved the envelope into Ami's hands. Inside was a fake passport with Ami's photo and a one-way first-class ticket to Switzerland.

"You leave tonight," Else ordered, tears finally spilling down her wrinkled cheeks. "I have already prepared my statement. I will take all the federal securities fraud charges."

Ami stared at the ticket. The dam broke. Tears flooded her eyes. She shook her head wildly, stepping back.

She looked her mother dead in the eye. With trembling hands, she grabbed the ticket and ripped it in half. Then she ripped it again, letting the pieces fall to the floor.

Else gasped. Her eyes widened in shock. She raised her hand, intending to slap Ami across the face for her disobedience, but her arm dropped weakly to her side.

Ami fell to her knees. She grabbed her mother's cold, shaking hands and pressed them to her wet cheeks. "I found a way to get the money. I promise you."

Else smiled a broken, hopeless smile. She shook her head. "No one on Wall Street will lend to the Cleveland family now. We are toxic."

Ami didn't say Jerad Kidd's name. She just looked up and said, "I'm going to see an invisible billionaire. He has the money."

After helping her exhausted mother to the sofa, Ami walked up the stairs to her bedroom. Ami paced anxiously in the quiet room, waiting for the cover of darkness. The trauma of the morning, waking up naked and vulnerable to a stranger, suddenly crashed over her with crushing weight. She sank to the floor, her body trembling violently as the fear and humiliation she had been suppressing finally broke through. She wrapped her arms tightly around her knees, letting out a stifled, agonizing sob. But as she looked up and caught her tear-streaked reflection in the mirror, the image of her mother's pale, desperate face flashed in her mind. She couldn't afford to be weak. She bit down hard on her lower lip, forcing the tears to stop, and slowly stood up. It wasn't until the clock on the wall struck eight PM that she opened her massive walk-in closet.

She stripped off the ruined evening gown. She reached into the back of her closet and pulled out a pair of tight black leather pants and a fitted leather motorcycle jacket.

She pulled her long hair up into a tight, high ponytail. She stared at the woman in the mirror. Her eyes were red, but they were sharp and dangerous. She looked like a completely different person.

She opened her designer clutch, pulled out the heavy platinum Kidd family cufflink, and slipped it into the inner pocket of her leather jacket. It was her psychological armor.

Ami slipped out the back door of the estate, disappearing into the cold, rainy New York night, heading straight for Queens.