Reborn As The Vengeful Billionaire Heiress

The flashbulbs were blinding.

A sea of paparazzi surged against the barricades outside Mount Sinai Hospital. Security guards in black suits shoved them back, clearing a path to the waiting armored Maybach.

Altagracia walked out of the sliding glass doors. She wore a pair of oversized Tom Ford sunglasses that covered half her face, hiding her expression completely.

She didn't wave. She didn't smile. She slipped into the back of the Maybach, the heavy door thudding shut and instantly cutting off the screaming reporters.

The interior smelled of rich leather and Jo Malone wood sage.

Eleanor sat beside her, clutching a Birkin bag in her lap. She let out a long sigh of relief as the car pulled away from the curb.

"Thank heavens that's over," Eleanor said, reaching out to squeeze Altagracia's hand. "I am grounding you, Altagracia. No more cars. No more racing. I nearly lost you."

Altagracia slowly pulled the sunglasses off her face. She turned her head and looked at her mother. Her eyes were calm, serious, and entirely focused.

"You don't have to worry about that anymore, Mom," Altagracia said, her voice steady. "I'm done playing games. Almost dying... it changes your perspective. It's time I grew up."

Eleanor blinked, taken aback by the mature tone. "Darling... what are you saying?"

"I want to enter the Blanchard Group," Altagracia stated flatly. "I want to take over the investment division."

Eleanor's mouth fell open. She stared at her daughter as if she had grown a second head. "The investment division? Altagracia, that's the bloodiest department on Wall Street. I thought... I thought you might want to run the fashion magazine, or open a gallery."

"I am the sole heir to this family," Altagracia said, her voice hardening. "I can't hide behind you and Grandfather forever."

Before Eleanor could speak, Altagorecia leaned forward.

"The group's recent push into the European green energy sector is flawed," Altagracia said, reciting the data April had analyzed for weeks before her death because Vance Group had been desperately preparing to pitch a joint venture for that exact project to save themselves from bankruptcy. "The leverage ratio on the Berlin project is too high. If the Euro drops even two points next quarter, we'll face a margin call that will wipe out our liquid reserves."

Eleanor sat frozen. She was a socialite, but she knew enough about the family business to recognize high-level financial analysis when she heard it.

Her daughter-who previously couldn't balance a checkbook-had just casually diagnosed a multi-billion dollar blind spot.

Tears of absolute pride welled up in Eleanor's eyes.

"Your grandfather," Eleanor whispered, her hands shaking as she dug her phone out of her bag. "He needs to hear this."

She dialed the private line of Augustus Blanchard. When the old man answered, Eleanor quickly explained the conversation.

Altagracia could hear the booming, joyous laughter of her grandfather through the receiver.

"Put her on!" Augustus demanded.

Altagracia took the phone. "Grandfather."

“My precious granddaughter has finally woken up,” Augustus said, his voice choked with emotion. “You want the investment department? Here you go. But first, we must announce to the world that the heir to the Blanchard family has returned. I will throw you a grand birthday party at Hampton Estate, the biggest party in the city’s history.”

"Thank you, Grandfather," Altagracia said softly.

She handed the phone back to Eleanor and leaned her head against the cool leather headrest. "Mom," Altagracia added, her eyes remaining closed. "I need Alistair to compile a comprehensive background dossier on every single guest attending this gala. Financial histories, recent investments, and personal indiscretions. I want it on my tablet by tonight." Eleanor looked startled but nodded quickly. "Of course, darling. Whatever you need." She watched the Manhattan skyline blur past the tinted window.

Two days later, a thick, gold-embossed envelope landed on Julian Travis's desk.

Julian stared at the Blanchard family crest stamped in wax. His head throbbed. He had spent the last 48 hours interrogating Kristie, finding no proof of her involvement in April's crash, but the paranoia was eating him alive.

He picked up the invitation. He had to go. He had to figure out what game Altagracia Blanchard was playing.

On the night of the gala, the Hamptons estate was ablaze with light.

Altagracia sat in front of the vanity mirror in the master suite. A team of stylists buzzed around her. The lead stylist carefully pinned a priceless, antique diamond tiara into her dark hair.

Altagracia looked at her reflection. The crown was heavy. It felt like power.

She stood up, the heavy silk of her gown pooling around her feet.