Margot Ivey, the 35 year-old female CEO of the Modern Royalty Corporation

It's the year 2022. Small businesses are bleeding, while big business surges, hampered only by the need to observe some level of basic human decency towards their employees and perhaps, to a lesser extent, the world at large. No company is bigger nor more crafty at navigating the loopholes of fiscal responsibility than the Modern Royalty Corporation, a massive business with headquarters all over the world, specializing in funding the discovery and trade of massive deposits of ores and minerals. The business is largely speculative and typically relies upon a lot of luck...

... Or, in the case of this particular business, help from someone's invisible hand.

Margot Ivey is the chief executive officer of this corporation. The secret of her success is a little more secret than most could claim: an ancient relic called the Cursed Cape of Avarice, delivered to her small apartment's doorstep in the dead of night. Using its power, she rose from a college dropout with business-owner aspirations in the year 2012 to the top of the list of Forbes' Most Influential Businesswomen in just a few years and managed to stay on top.

She has few close associates or confidants, so there is no one to second-guess her operating methods. She keeps on making speculative deals and they keep on working. Who could say how or why? At times, she picks up the phone, closes her door, and stays in meetings for hours at a time... then the magic simply happens.

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The CEO tosses her luxurious, straightened red hair and kicks her long legs up atop her mahogany desk, satisfied in another day's work well done. Of course, she's never done the true work of a business woman since she was an unlucky try-hard, fresh out of college-- her only work is prayer and worship to the mysterious power behind her cape. The cape is fastened to the mantle she wears around her shoulders-- never in public, only in the privacy of her own office-- and doesn't exactly match the rest of her business-woman attire, which includes a smart gray blazer, single-buttoned over a snug, sky-blue turtleneck and knee-length gray skirt. Her feet are clad in stiletto heels, perfect for a lady who revels in looking good without the need to walk around too much. Her light make-up and cherry-red lipstick aids her visual appeal, which is honestly the hardest she works to keep up the appearance of CEO.

Margot has it made. She's in the lap of luxury and doesn't have to fight hard to stay there. She's avoided being tied down by a family, although she briefly married in 2016 and got out of it-- also in 2016-- once she realized the difficulty of maintaining her secret with a spouse. Her body has held its shape into maturity well, with a full bosom and pleasant bottom that each look good in side-profile photo shoots. Somewhere inside her is the fighter from back in 2012, the one who would have done anything to get a truly unique business off its feet, but that person is suffocating to under her new persona: a lazy cape-owner who has no want or drive for anything.

Least of all an afternoon snack! Margot kicks her feet happily while listening to her air-pods and biting from a juicy, green apple. Her green eyes, half-shaded by gold-rimmed glasses, turn to watch the New York cityscape. The scene outside is bustling, but here, in her office, there is not a care in the world.

"Good, Margot. You're looking fat and happy," a disembodied voice interrupts her relaxation, causing her eyes, which had been squeezed into contented crescents, to turn as wide as dinner plates.

"D-Did I forget to get off call?" she asks the empty room. She's developed a habit of talking to herself, cultivated by a long time of guarding the cape's secret. "Oh God, am I still on video?" She puts her legs under the table and straightens her turtleneck over her breasts with obsessive sweeps, feeling a bit of the apple's juice staining there. "Crap!"

"Ha ha ha... not God," the voice responds with a sneer. "Although, I've done more for you than he ever has."

That answer makes it clearer for her. The woman adopts the sort of pleasant smile she thinks an omnipotent being might want to see and even clasps her hands in a praying position, something she hasn't done for ten years since she left such petty things as religion behind. "Oh! Oh, this is a cape thing, I get it. Didn't actually know you could talk!" she asks through her apple, while courteously removing her headphones. "The cape can talk! Cool, cool. Not even Doctor Strange's cape can talk. Hey, sorry I got some apple juice on you just now-"

"I am not the cape, you fool!" the devil's voice booms, audible only to her despite its volume. "I am Mammon, one of the seven lords of hell, and he who to whom you owe everything in this comfortable life of yours! It is I who bestowed you this cape, through the hands of my followers to your destitute doorstep!"

"Okay, uuuh, I'm going to cut in and say destitute is being a little harsh?" Margot responds, feeling silly for arguing with her cape. "I was in a bad time back in 2012, okay, but even without your-- very generous, mind you-- investment in my business, I still would have gotten Modern Royalty Corporation running!"

"Ha ha ha... Oh, this is going to be delightful. I am truly going to enjoy pulling that royal rug out from beneath you, oh Chief Executive Officer. It's time for you to pay me what I'm owed."

"Yeesh, don't like the sound of that. Uuum, I'm actually in the middle of a work-day with another three hours on the clocks, so if we could just put this off for a bit, I'll pencil you in for the weekend," she responds, reaching to the cape's clasp in an attempt to remove it from her neck. To her surprise, the clasp remains tightly shut as though the pieces are welded together, and attempts to lift it off over her head are completely fruitless. Any attempt to raise it makes it feel like it weighs a million tons. "God no, I can't keep wearing this dopey-looking cape through the whole work day. I've actually worked pretty gosh-darn hard to make sure nobody ever sees me in this. I mean, no offense, but wearing this thing makes me look like a stage magician. Mammon, can you lend me a hand with this?" She snaps her fingers a few times, as if summoning a genie to do her bidding.

"Oh, absolutely. I agree. We are about to play a game and your means of attire is entirely inappropriate. Let's get you into something more fitting."