“We can discuss that after the board meeting,” I said.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a gold pen.

“I’ll sign them right now,” he said, his hand trembling as he unscrewed the cap. “I’ll acknowledge paternity, and I’ll surrender my executive voting rights to you. I’ll give you everything.”

Before he could press the pen to the paper, the heavy glass doors of the lobby swung open behind us.

The sound of wet footsteps echoed on the marble floor.

I turned around to see who had entered.

A man in a dark trench coat stood there, holding a tablet in his hand.

He looked straight at me.

“Clara?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“We have a problem,” he said. “Vivian didn’t go to the airport.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“Where is she?” I asked.

The man stepped closer, his face grim under the lobby lights.

“She’s at your mother’s house,” he said.

“What is she doing there?” Garrett asked, his voice rising in panic, the pen still hovering over the unsigned document.