A sneer curled her upper lip.

“I see you are still wasting your time in this pathetic little cubicle,” she said, tossing her designer handbag onto the single vinyl chair opposite my desk.

“It pays the bills,” I replied evenly.

“Hardly,” Gloria scoffed. “If you were contributing anything of value to my son’s household, he wouldn’t be under the immense stress he is facing right now.”

She stepped closer to my desk, her heels clicking sharply on the thin carpet.

“I did not drive all the way down here from Highland Park to discuss your sad little career, Jocelyn,” she said.

“Then why are you here, Gloria?” I asked.

She reached into her handbag and pulled out a folded piece of heavy bond paper.

She slapped it down on my desk, right on top of my neat stack of manila folders.

“Do you know what this is?” she demanded.

I looked down at the letterhead.

It bore the logo of Oakwood Asset Management, one of my primary shell companies.

“It looks like a legal notice,” I said.