Nathan didn’t look at me yet, keeping his gaze fixed on my ex-husband.

“He has a whole digital archive, Emily,” Nathan said quietly.

“Bank statements showing fake transfers, fabricated doctor reports from a clinic his mother funds.”

“You’re bluffing,” Grant said, though his voice cracked slightly on the last word.

Evelyn grabbed her son’s arm, her fingers digging into his sleeve.

“Grant, we are leaving,” she commanded, her eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp panic.

Before they could turn, the heavy glass doors of the hotel lobby swung open.

A cold draft swept through the restaurant, carrying the smell of rain and wet asphalt.

Three men in dark gray suits walked into the dining room.

They weren’t wearing hotel uniforms, and they didn’t look like guests.

They carried leather briefcases, and the man in the lead had a gold badge clipped to his belt.

“Grant Whitmore?” the lead man called out, his voice cutting through the quiet chatter of the dining room.

Several people at nearby tables turned to look.

Grant froze, his hand dropping to his side.

“Who wants to know?” Grant asked, trying to summon his usual arrogant posture.