Am All Yours, Mr. Billionaire

If someone had told me that I'd come back to America not with champagne, celebration, and a shiny new title-but to a crumbling empire and a drunk father-I would have stayed in London and married my thesis.

I stepped off the plane and inhaled the crisp Chicago air like I had just conquered the world. After six grueling years, a PhD in Business Administration from the London School of Economics was tucked under my belt. The plan was simple.. walk into Monroe Industries, take the reins from my father, and revive my late mother's legacy like the girl boss I was born to be.

I even wore heels for the occasion. Pointy ones. Red soles. My victory shoes.

The Uber ride from O'Hare to our downtown family office building was buzzing with daydreams-press interviews, Forbes covers, and employees clapping as I walked in. I had waited my whole life for this moment.

What I walked into... was silence.

Not even awkward silence-funeral silence.

The glass doors squeaked open, and no one turned to look. The once-bustling reception desk was empty, and the logo behind it-Monroe Industries-was half-peeled, like the universe was trying to warn me.

"Hello?" I called, adjusting my suitcase.

A lanky intern scurried out of the break room, chewing something suspiciously loud. "Oh. You're... Erica Monroe?"

"Yes." I blinked. "Where's my father?"

He pointed a cheesy finger toward the elevator. "Boardroom. Floor 19. Good luck."

Good luck?

I should've run then.

The boardroom was chaos. Adrian-my little brother and the reason I needed wine in church-was yelling into a Bluetooth earpiece like he was starring in a budget mafia film.

"I told him to hold! Why did he sell at thirty-five cents? I swear I'm gonna sue his ass!"

At the head of the table, my father slouched, cradling a bottle of whiskey like a newborn. His tie was loose, eyes bloodshot, and he reeked of failure and Jack Daniels.

I froze at the doorway.

"What the hell happened here?" My voice came out shriller than I intended.

Adrian turned, lowered his sunglasses like a cartoon villain, and offered me a fake smile. "Look who finally flew back. Miss PhD in Heels."

I ignored him. "Dad?"

He blinked at me, swayed in his chair, and muttered, "Your mother would've known what to do."

"I am my mother's daughter," I snapped.

Adrian scoffed. "Then you better have a billionaire in your luggage because this company's bankrupt."

I stared at him. "What did you do?"

He rolled his eyes. "It was just one crypto deal. The guy said it would bounce back-"

"You invested company money in crypto?" I gasped.

He leaned back with a smirk. "Relax, sis. Risk builds wealth."

"Idiocy builds bankruptcy!"

I turned to my father, desperate. "Tell me this isn't true."

He just sighed, looking smaller than I remembered. "It's all gone, baby. The contracts, the shares... I trusted Adrian. Thought he had your mother's fire."

"No," I whispered. "He has your hangover."

The boardroom spun slightly. Monroe Industries was my mother's legacy. She built it from scratch while raising me and managing her illness. I spent every summer of my life in this building-labeling files, serving coffee, dreaming of one day making it my own.

Now it was a graveyard.

"Let me fix this," I said quietly. "Give me access to the books. I'll find a way to save us."

Dad didn't argue. He just handed me the keycard and poured himself another glass.

The next few days were a blur of desperation.

Banks said no. Investors laughed. My ex-friends in business school sent me polite rejections or ghosted me entirely. No one wanted to touch a sinking ship-especially not one run by a twenty-nine-year-old with zero corporate experience.

I barely slept. I barely ate. I cried in the office bathroom and screamed into my pillow like a teenager. Every number on the spreadsheets mocked me. Every unpaid invoice felt like a dagger in my gut.

On day five, I found myself in my childhood bedroom-mascara-smudged, hair in a pineapple bun, surrounded by accounting books and half-eaten Pop-Tarts. I didn't even hear my father knock until he cleared his throat.

I looked up, annoyed. "Unless you've got a million-dollar check, I'm not in the mood."

"I don't," he said. "But I've got a name."

I raised an eyebrow.

He sat at the edge of the bed, awkwardly rubbing his hands together. "You remember Nathan Barth?"

I blinked. "Nathan... as in my ex from college?"

He nodded. "The one you dumped after finals."

I flinched. "That was ten years ago! He was a poetry major with no plans."

"Well, now he's a tech billionaire with his own company, his own jet, and a Forbes cover I keep seeing at the liquor store."

I nearly dropped my laptop. "Nathan Barth is a billionaire?"

Dad nodded. "Word is, he's the only one crazy enough to invest in dying companies. Has a thing for playing savior."

My throat went dry.

Nathan and I had dated during sophomore year. He was sweet, awkward, brilliant-and completely unambitious. Back then, I couldn't see a future with him. He wanted to write spoken word and live in a van. I wanted empires.

So I broke it off. Harshly. I left him a note on his dorm bed: "It's not you. It's your future. Or lack of it."

Worst breakup line in history. I know.

Now he was a billionaire.

Now I was the one with nothing.

"What am I supposed to do?" I whispered. "Call him and beg?"

Dad shrugged. "You always said you were the best negotiator in the room."

I wanted to scream. Cry. Or throw something.

Instead, I opened Google, typed in Nathan Barth net worth, and nearly choked on my own spit.

$298.4 billion.

And his picture?

Damn.

He looked nothing like the scrawny poet I'd left behind. Now he had a jawline that could cut diamonds, expensive suits, and eyes colder than Chicago in February.

I stared at the screen, heart pounding.

Was I really going to beg my ex for help?

A man I dumped like a half-eaten sandwich?

Yes.

Yes, I was.

Because this wasn't about pride anymore. This was about saving the last piece of my mother I had left.

"Fine," I muttered, pulling up his company's website. "Let's see if Mr. Billionaire still remembers the girl who broke his heart."

And if he didn't?

Well, I'd just have to make him remember