The Jupiter Fund (New Rewrite)

Margery Purr

Fifty-four-year-old Margery Purr sat in her opulent, oak-panelled office. Her executive-class black leather swivel chair offered luxurious softness, providing welcome relief and support to her bad back and poor posture. Thirty-two years in management, working long hours to climb to the top, had taken their toll, leaving the five-foot-three businesswoman seventy-five pounds overweight. Despite this, she was confident in her body. She knew she was more than a number on a scale.

She adjusted her glasses and began replying to an email from her PA, Valerie, regarding a financial report submitted for review. Margery was Director of Investments and a board member, reporting to only one man — Alan Bigfort, the Chief Executive Officer.


Alan had mentored her throughout her career. Straight out of university, armed with a major in banking and finance, Margery joined the mortgage division of New York State Bank. Alan, then her head of department, immediately recognised something in her — dedication, attention to detail, logical thinking, strong interpersonal skills, and sharp business acumen. He encouraged her to continue her education, and she completed a master’s degree in international banking at Oxford University in the United Kingdom.


She spent three years at the Royal British Bank as Manager of Financial Transactions. In her third year, in 2001, she received a call from Alan. He had just accepted a role as Chief Financial Officer at Bank of Northern America and needed someone he trusted to lead international operations. That person was Margery. Under his continued mentorship, she rose quickly, joining the board of directors within a year.


In 2010, Alan was headhunted by Platinum Bank to become its CEO. He told Margery he would be in touch, and six months later she joined as Head of Global Operations. Over the years, Alan became not just her mentor but her confidant — and, most importantly, a trusted ally. In boardroom politics, loyalty was currency, and enemies waited patiently for weakness.

Now, at fifty-four, the lifestyle was catching up with her. She had never been athletic, and lately she found herself huffing after minor exertion. Climbing the stairs in her Hamptons mansion felt like a daily ascent of Everest. She had begun to consider running her own consultancy — fewer hours, better life balance with plenty of money to be made. She believed it would even allow her to rebuild her relationship with her eighteen-year-old daughter, Arabelle.

Arabelle was studying law at Harvard. Bright, independent, and unimpressed by her mother’s work ethic, she saw little value in long hours and corporate sacrifice. Their relationship was strained — the one regret Margery carried most heavily. Growing up, Arabelle had often been closer to her au pairs than to her own mother.


Then there was her ex-husband Clive, now sixty. In hindsight, Margery could never quite understand why she had married him. He had been charming, successful with his construction company — but unfaithful. When Arabelle was eight, Margery had finally reached her limit.

It was late April 15th, 2014, just after nine in the evening, when she pulled into the driveway. Their German au pair, Hannah’s battered yellow Volkswagen Fox, was parked outside. Inside the house, Margery climbed the stairs, exhausted from travel and a relentless schedule. She paused in Arabelle’s room, smiled at her sleeping child, groaned as she bent to kiss her forehead, and left a plush unicorn beside her.

In the hallway, she heard drawers opening and closing in Hannah’s room, as if she were searching for something. Margery went to her bedroom to freshen up. On the floor lay a pair of tiny black panties.

She went down stairs, opened a tub of Ice-cream and spooned it straight from the container into her mouth. Arabelle was devastated losing her her Au Pair and family unit in one go.


While Margery typed at speed her phone rang, it was Alan 'I hope he doesn't want the report, it's not ready'.

She picks up "Hi Alan" Her tone, deep and inviting, yet measured and paced reflecting her fatigue and physical condition.

“Tell me, Margery,” Alan replied, his tone emotional.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. “Are you part of this little stunt?” he asked. She heard him snuffle, sensed his anxiety.

Margery stroked her double chin with a trembling hand. “Alan, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What is it?”

"Can you come up to my office straightaway" he pleaded and hung up.

Margery groaned as she stood up and placed her right palm on the back of her right hip while She paused momentarily concerned for Alans welfare. She straightens up her tailor made black business suit jacket cut to complement her curves along with it's matching black trousers. She storms out of the office at the fastest pace she could manage.