PART ONE — THE MEETING HE HAD BEEN BEGGING FOR
“Before you met me, you lived in a rented apartment and drove a ten-year-old car,” Grant whispered. “I gave you this life.”
I looked around the waterfront mansion in Palm Beach.
The Italian marble floors.
The paintings Mavis Holloway showed every guest while pretending she had selected them herself.
The wine cellar Grant called his private collection.
The antique dining table where I had just spent an hour serving a family that spoke to me as though I were hired help.
Grant truly believed it all belonged to him.
That was the remarkable thing about arrogance.
It did not require evidence.
Only repetition.
Grant repeated the same story so often that even he believed it.
He was the brilliant entrepreneur.
The self-made businessman.
The man who had transformed Holloway Meridian Group from a struggling regional developer into a national luxury brand.
