Chapter 2

Eleanor agreed to step down from public life, from any official company roles.

It was done with quiet dignity, no drama, no tears.

The news spread through their circles like a ripple in dark water.

Her "Sorority Sisters," a formidable group of women from the highest echelons of finance, law, and media, heard it first.

They subtly, almost imperceptibly, withdrew their active support for Mark' s newest, Tiffany-inspired ventures.

That evening, they gathered at Eleanor' s city penthouse, a fortress of old money and impeccable taste.

The city lights glittered below, but inside, the mood was sharp, analytical, and laced with a dark humor.

"A disruptor?" chuckled Beatrice, a titan in private equity, swirling her wine. "She looks like she disrupts a buffet line."

"And Mark," sighed Caroline, a renowned litigator, "always a fool for a pretty face and an empty promise."

They mocked Tiffany' s shallow ambitions, her buzzword-laden vocabulary.

They dissected Mark' s astounding gullibility.

Tiffany, meanwhile, was on a roll.

In a company-wide video message, full of awkward slang and vapid pronouncements, she boasted about her "next-gen strategies."

She dismissed Eleanor' s circle, the women now gathered in the penthouse, as "outdated legacy thinkers, totally stuck in the past."

Eleanor watched a clip of it on a tablet, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.

Her friends saw it.

"She has no idea who she's dealing with, does she?" Victoria, a PR queen, murmured.

Eleanor sipped her tea. "None at all."

Their bond was forged in the crucibles of elite education, shared histories, and a network so discreet and powerful it was practically invisible to outsiders.

They weren't just friends; they were a silent phalanx.

A few weeks later, at the annual Children' s Foundation Gala, a major event Eleanor usually chaired, Tiffany decided to make her mark.

Mark, beaming foolishly, had installed her as the new nominal head of the gala committee.

Tiffany, dressed in something neon and ill-fitting for the formal occasion, approached the table where Beatrice, Caroline, and several other "Sisters" were seated.

"Okay, ladies," Tiffany announced, voice too loud, "I have some new ideas for the auction. We need to, like, totally gamify it. Make it viral."

She started dictating terms, dismissing decades of successful fundraising strategy.

Beatrice raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

Caroline' s smile was polite, but her eyes were ice.

The next morning, Tiffany received a series of elegantly worded, identical emails.

Beatrice, Caroline, and every single influential member of the gala committee, all Eleanor' s allies, had resigned. En masse.

Effective immediately.

Citing "unforeseen personal commitments."

Tiffany was left with a prestigious charity event and no one of consequence to run it.

She looked foolish, isolated, and utterly out of her depth.

Her viral moment was one of public failure.