One ear was bigger than the other, one paw looked suspiciously like a potato, and the tiny wooden tie she had glued under its chin leaned sideways.

Two months later, the dust had begun to settle, though the scars remained.

Grant Whitmore sat on a plastic chair in a modest two-bedroom rental apartment on the outskirts of the city. His luxury sports cars had been auctioned off to settle civil restitution claims. His name had been scrubbed from every building, every letterhead, and every corporate directory at Whitmore Aeronautics.

His lawyer, a weary public defender assigned after his private legal counsel abandoned him over unpaid retainers, dropped a thick packet onto the laminate table.

“Vanessa Price took a plea deal this morning,” the attorney announced bluntly.

Grant looked up, his face hollow, gaunt, and visibly aged. “What deal?”

“Three years in minimum security in exchange for full testimony regarding your willful negligence and financial irregularities. You won’t serve prison time, Grant, thanks to your ex-wife declining to pursue formal criminal charges against you personally. Eleanor agreed to settle your embezzlement liabilities using her private trust to protect Lucy from having a father behind bars.”

Grant let out a bitter, raspy laugh. “She saved me? How generous of her.”

“She didn’t save you,” the attorney countered sharply. “She stripped you clean. She took your equity, your house, your social standing, and your executive licenses. You are legally forbidden from holding a corporate officer position in any publicly traded aerospace firm for the next ten years. And as for custody… you have supervised visitation. Two hours every other Sunday, in a public facility, with a court-appointed monitor present.”

Grant’s voice cracked. “Supervised? I’m her father!”

“You watched a woman assault your eight-year-old child and told her not to make a scene,” the lawyer said, zipping his bag. “Be grateful she lets you see Lucy at all.”

After the lawyer left, Grant walked over to the small window overlooking a noisy highway. He thought back to that afternoon in his corner office—the afternoon he thought he had it all. He had thought power was having a young mistress on his desk, barking orders at subordinates, and belittling the woman who had handed him his career on a silver platter.

Now, he had nothing.

No power. No empire. No family.