AUTHOR'S POV
Gina Wolfe set the phone down on her thick bed covers with more force than was necessary.
"The nerve of that boy," she hissed, leaning against the headboard of her bed.
Behind her small back were pillows, propping her up and straight as she sat in bed. The silk of her nightgown cool against her shoulders, and with her lips twisted in rage she reached for the small button on her bedside table and slammed it down.
Footsteps echoed in the slightly empty mansion. Only she and her housekeeper lived in the huge Wolfe mansion that used to be filled with hustling and bustling when her dear husband was still alive.
She had him, she had her twin boys, and she had been in control of the Corporation. It was after her husband's death that it all went downhill.
Martha appeared at the bedroom door, her grey hair tucked in a bun behind her. She had on an old brown nightdress that draped her frail frame.
