It’s not that Veronica wasn’t sad that her father died. She was absolutely sad. He was her father, and she was his princess. But his death also meant she was due a large inheritance, which meant that it was time for Daddy’s Little Princess to become Queen V.

And so Queen V waited, wearing an inappropriately tight black Chanel dress to her father’s funeral, sitting in the funeral home parlor as she Instagrammed her selfie – because her brows and red lip look were too on fleek not to share - and a crying face emoji caption. The estate attorney was due soon to read the will, and then Veronica would have reason to pop open the bottle of Dom Perignon she had waiting for her back at the apartment.

Of course, her father’s money wasn’t all going to her. There was her b***h of a mother, Belinda LeCroux, returning to Destiny City from who knows where to collect what she felt was her deserved share of the inheritance. Last Veronica heard, her mother was getting nailed by a sheik or something in Dubai, as her father so eloquently put it. And then the even bigger b***h of her step-mother, María Teresa Lucinda Esperanza De Alvavadejo St. Cloud, or Maité for short. Veronica best remembered her as the frumpy housekeeper, worst remembered her as the woman who drove her parents apart, and now sees her as an unfamiliar cold-hearted woman completely changed by a series of plastic surgeries. She carried an attitude of the elite, but in Veronica’s eyes, she did not belong at her level of status.

Maité smiled at her from across the room, but Veronica gave her no mind. Just the thought of the woman staring at her made her feel uncomfortable and she moved to wander the parlor some more, encountering a depressingly frumpy woman behind a counter.

“May I help you?” the woman asked.

“Not unless you can get our estate attorney here any quicker, no,” the blonde responded coldly. She glanced up to give the woman a second look, but only grew more depressed by her appearance. She clearly didn’t take nice care of herself, and Veronica had made a personal resolution to not spend much time with someone that poor. But it was better than Maité or her mother.

Veronica’s eyes landed on a photo of a young teen girl with short brown hair.

“Who is that?” she asked.

“Oh,” the frumpy woman looked sad. Based on her appearance she had plenty of reason to be sad, she thought. “That’s my daughter, Devi.” Her voice cracked. “She went missing some years back. We had left the city but returned hoping she’d find her way home one day but…”

“Tragic, but you know, my dad did just die, so I think that should be the depressing center attention here, not whatever that is,” Veronica reminded the woman. “Maybe hide the missing girl poster somewhere else.”

Veronica’s attention shifted back to the phone and away from the peasantry cursing her off in the background until finally the estate attorney arrived.

He had called everyone into a small room where he began to read the will.

To his ex-wife, Belinda, ten percent of his estate, and fifty percent of her beloved Shih Tzu, Peepers, who he kept in the divorce.

To his wife, Maité, thirty-five percent of his estate, their Destiny City penthouse, their house in Mexico, their house in Los Angeles, and the remaining fifty percent of their Shih Tzu, Peepers.

To his Canadian mistress Rhonda, apparently, five percent of his estate, and their private cabin outside Toronto.

And to his daughter, Veronica…

“Fifty percent of the estate, as to be jointly controlled by Belinda LeCroux and María Teresa Lucinda Esperanza De Alvavadejo St. Cloud until such a time that Veronica proves herself to be financially responsible, or the age of twenty-eight.”

“Mother ********!” And that is how the estate attorney was put into a concussion from a flying cellphone.