Acceptable Service: Tipping The Ruthless Billionaire

The cab ride back to the Upper East Side cost Colette thirty dollars she didn't have, leaving her with a knot of anxiety in her chest that was tighter than the one in her stomach. She stared out the window as the familiar brownstones blurred past. This used to be home. Before her mother died. Before her father got sick. Before Meredith.

The taxi pulled up to the curb. Colette practically fell out, clutching her shoes. She just wanted a shower. She wanted to scrub the scent of expensive cologne and cheap decisions off her skin.

She jammed her key into the front door lock. It didn't turn.

She jiggled it. Nothing. She pulled it out and tried again, sweat prickling her hairline.

"Looking for this?"

The door swung open. A maid stood there, blocking the entrance with her body. Her expression was a mix of pity and disdain.

"My key isn't working," Colette said, her voice raspy.

"Locks were changed, Miss Barrett. Mrs. Barrett's orders."

Colette pushed past her into the foyer. The house smelled of lilies and old money-a smell that used to comfort her but now just made her want to gag.

"Colette?"

The voice floated down from the top of the stairs. High-pitched. Mocking.

Colette looked up. Her blood turned to ice.

Tiffany stood on the landing, her arm draped possessively over a man in a navy suit.

Chad.

Colette felt the floor tilt. Chad looked down at her, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second before he masked it with a practiced look of indifference. Tiffany was wearing a silk slip dress. Colette's silk slip dress. The one her mother had given her for her twenty-first birthday.

"You didn't come home last night," Tiffany said, descending the stairs slowly, like a queen greeting a peasant. "Daddy is in the hospital, and you were out... where exactly?"

Colette ignored her stepsister. Her eyes were locked on Chad. "What are you doing here?"

Chad adjusted his tie, avoiding her gaze. "We broke up, Cole. You know that."

"We were on a break," Colette whispered. "Because I was working two jobs to pay for Dad's surgery."

"I have ambitions, Colette," Chad said, finally looking at her. His eyes were cold. "Tiffany understands the market. She understands the future."

"He means you're broke," Tiffany giggled, squeezing Chad's bicep.

"Enough."

Meredith walked out of the living room. She was wearing a cream-colored suit that cost more than Colette's annual salary as an art restorer. She held a porcelain cup of coffee, looking every inch the grieving wife, despite the fact that she hadn't visited the hospital in weeks.

"Don't air our dirty laundry in front of guests," Meredith said smoothly. "Although, looking at you, you are the dirty laundry."

Colette felt a surge of rage so pure it nearly blinded her. She took a step toward Chad, her hand raising instinctively.

A large man in a black suit stepped out from the shadows of the hallway-private security. He blocked her path without saying a word.

Meredith tossed a blue folder onto the entryway table. It slid across the polished wood and stopped inches from Colette's hand.

"Since you're here," Meredith said, taking a sip of coffee. "Sign this. Renounce your claim to your father's estate, and I'll cover his medical bills for another week."

Colette stared at the folder. "This is blackmail."

"This is business," Meredith corrected. "The hospital called. Your father's account is overdrawn. They're going to stop treatment, Colette. Unless someone pays."

"You're his wife!" Colette screamed, her voice cracking.

"And I'm tired of throwing money into a pit," Meredith snapped, her mask slipping. "Sign the papers, or watch him die. It's your choice."

Tiffany smirked, leaning her head on Chad's shoulder. "Just give it up, sis. You can't even afford to feed yourself."

Colette looked at them. The three of them. A tableau of greed and betrayal.

She grabbed the folder. For a second, Meredith looked triumphant.

Colette ripped the folder in half. Then in quarters. She threw the pieces into the air.

"I will get the money," Colette said, her voice shaking with adrenaline. "And I will bury all of you."

"Get out," Meredith hissed. "And don't come back until you have a check."

Colette turned and ran. She ran out the door, down the steps, and into the street. Her phone buzzed in her hand.

It was the hospital. The screen flashed: FINAL NOTICE.

She declined the call, staring at her reflection in a shop window. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were wild, and she looked exactly like what she was: a woman with nothing left to lose.