The sound of Sienna’s voice shattering through the phone speaker was like glass hitting a marble floor.

Grant recovered his composure quickly, forcing a harsh, mocking laugh as he leaned against the edge of the table.

“You think you’re smart, don't you?” Grant sneered, gesturing to his lawyers. “You walked right into a closed session, Claire. These documents on the table are legal corporate acquisitions backed by forty million dollars in verified capital. You have no legal standing here. You’re just a disgruntled ex-wife playing dress-up in a billionaire’s world.”

“Am I?” I asked smoothly.

I pulled a sleek digital tablet from my coat pocket and tapped the screen. Instantly, the massive projector behind the boardroom table flickered to life, casting a giant, glowing document across the wall.

It wasn't a corporate acquisition form.

It was a federal warrant for wire fraud, international money laundering, and corporate espionage—signed by a federal judge less than twenty minutes ago.

The room’s temperature dropped to freezing.

“What is that?” Grant stammered, his face turning an unhealthy shade of pale. He looked at his lawyers, who were already frantically gathering their laptops and backing away from the table.

“That,” I said, taking two deliberate steps closer to him, “is the paper trail Eleanor Vance handed me this morning. Every shell company you used to funnel your father’s hidden millions through the Cayman Islands? My legal team traced every single byte. The accounts were frozen by federal authorities forty-eight hours ago, Grant. You didn't buy Moretti Tech shares. You bought yourself an airtight federal indictment.”

“That’s a lie!” Grant screamed, lunging forward, his hands clawing at the air. “You forged those! You and Moretti set this up!”

Before Grant could take another step, the side doors of the boardroom swung open.

Four armed federal agents, accompanied by Marcus and Dominic’s head of legal, marched into the room. They didn't hesitate. Two agents grabbed Grant by the arms, slamming his wrists into heavy steel handcuffs with a sharp, metallic click.

“Grant Kingsley, you are under arrest for federal wire fraud, corporate extortion, and violation of federal asset-freezing injunctions,” the lead agent announced, his voice booming through the room.

“Get your hands off me!” Grant thrashed like a caged animal, his face twisting into an ugly mask of pure terror and humiliation as he was dragged backward toward the elevators. He twisted his neck, glaring at me with venomous hatred. “You haven't won! Moretti will leave you! He’ll realize you’re nothing without him!”

“Dominic knows exactly who I am,” I whispered, loud enough for him to hear over his own frantic screaming. “And he loves every single part of it.”

The elevator doors closed, cutting off Grant’s voice once and for all.

Silence descended on the boardroom. The corporate raiders had already slipped out the side exit. I stood alone in the center of the room, looking up at the glowing New York skyline.

My phone buzzed in my coat pocket.

I pulled it out. It was a text message from a private international flight tracker: