Rain was beginning to fall, smearing the yellow streetlights against the glass.

“I need your signature before we reach the bank headquarters on LaSalle Street,” Arthur said, pulling a heavy gold fountain pen from his pocket.

He uncapped the pen and held it out to me.

I looked at the pen, then at the document in Marcus’s hands.

For years, the Bradfords had treated me as an outsider, an inconvenience to be bought off or swept away.

Now, the patriarch of the family was handing me the keys to his kingdom to keep it from turning to ash.

“If I sign this, I restructure the entire board,” I said. “My people take the executive seats.”

“Do what you must,” Arthur said. “Just keep the doors open.”

I took the pen from his fingers.

The metal was cold, heavy, and solid.

Marcus placed the document on his briefcase, smoothing the page flat for me.

I signed my name at the bottom of the final sheet, the ink flowing dark and permanent onto the paper.

Arthur watched the pen move, then let out a slow, heavy breath.