Chapter 4

Eleanor, from her new base, issued quiet instructions.

Her network, vast and unseen, began to move.

Two simple rules were established for the "Hamptons Cold Palace."

One: Mark Sterling was not welcome.

Two: Tiffany Royale was absolutely, under no circumstances, to set foot on the property.

Back in the city, Tiffany started to feel the chill.

Key executives at Mark's company suddenly became "unavailable" for her endless "brainstorming sessions."

Important social invitations, the lifeblood of an influencer, dried up completely.

Doors that had previously swung open for Mark, and by extension her, were now politely but firmly closed.

She threw a tantrum in Mark' s office, reportedly smashing a rather ugly modern art sculpture he' d recently acquired.

"It's Eleanor!" she shrieked at him. "She's doing this! Her old hag friends!"

Mark was enraged. He called the Hamptons estate, demanding to speak to Beatrice or Caroline.

Eleanor' s unflappable head of household staff informed him, with perfect politeness, that Mrs. Vance and her guests were "indisposed, enjoying the country air" and could not be disturbed.

He found out that all of Eleanor' s most influential friends were, indeed, "on vacation" with her.

It looked like a social snub of epic proportions.

He declared to his remaining, increasingly nervous, senior staff that Eleanor was "officially persona non grata" and her influence was "permanently severed."

He was, of course, wrong.

At the estate, Eleanor and her friends were far from idle.

Their "book club" meetings were intense strategy sessions, poring over financial reports, market intelligence, and confidential personnel files from Mark' s company, all discreetly supplied by loyal insiders.

Eleanor, with input from her specialists, directed her contacts to subtly downgrade support for Mark' s riskiest new projects – the ones Tiffany had championed with her "Gen Z insights."

Lines of credit became harder to secure. Regulatory hurdles appeared as if from nowhere. Promising talent suddenly accepted offers elsewhere.

Over evening cocktails on the vast veranda, they reminisced.

"Remember that hostile takeover bid in '08, Mark was panicking?" Caroline said, a smile in her voice. "You pulled that all-nighter with the legal team, found that loophole in the Delaware charter."

Beatrice nodded. "And the series A funding for his first big app? He thought his charm sealed it. It was your father' s call to the fund manager, Eleanor."

Victoria, the PR guru, added, "The launch campaign he took all the credit for? My team drafted every word, based on your core strategy."

It was a casual recounting of how Eleanor, using their collective expertise in finance, law, PR, and tech, had been the true architect of Mark' s early, and continued, successes.

He had simply been the face, increasingly convinced of his own genius.

One evening, Beatrice looked at Eleanor, a direct question in her eyes.

"Eleanor, why not just orchestrate a takeover now? You have the leverage. The board has always respected you more than him."

Eleanor smiled, an enigmatic, Mona Lisa curve of her lips.

"Patience, darling," she murmured, gazing out at the perfectly manicured lawns.

"Who says that' s not the endgame?"