Deleted By The Dachshund

I am eleven inches tall and I have never lost an argument. My name is Cesar, and the man who tried to erase my human is about to learn why.

I am a dachshund. I have a bad back, a deposed-monarch complex, and one unshakeable habit: I bury the thing a person is most afraid to lose. For years, Wilson called it a behavioral problem and paid a man in a performance-fabric shirt to correct it.

It was never a behavioral problem. It was a rehearsal.

Because Wilson — tech-bro husband, wearer of vests, man who "founded" the company his wife Jenna actually built at two in the morning while he practiced saying we — has decided to trade her in. Quietly. On paper. He and his brother are erasing Jenna from her own cap table before the big payday, betting she'll sign whatever they slide in front of her, because she trusts them.

What they do not know is this: the entire fortune lives on one small device. And six weeks ago, on a matter of smell and principle, I buried it in the backyard.

There is now exactly one creature on this earth who knows where a fortune is buried. And I do not dig for just anyone.

Wilson set out to delete a woman from the company she built. He should have worried about the dog.

Deleted By The Dachshund is a laugh-out-loud, closed-door billionaire revenge romcom narrated entirely by the pettiest, most magnificent wiener dog in Miami. Completely standalone. Guaranteed happily-ever-after. One very buried USB stick.

Justice has four legs and a bad back.