“Not if we restructure the debt under Vance Marketing,” I replied.

I watched the raindrops slide down the window.

“I will buy out the remaining Bradford shares for pennies on the dollar.”

“Grandfather Bradford won’t like that,” Marcus noted.

“He wants to save his family’s name, not his daughter-in-law’s freedom,” I said.

“He will agree to my terms.”

We turned down the long, winding driveway of the Bradford estate.

The gravel crunched wetly under the tires.

The massive stone house loomed through the mist, its windows dark and cold.

Inside the grand foyer, the air smelled of old wood and beeswax.

A fire was crackling in the hearth, but it did not warm the room.

Vivian sat on the velvet sofa, a crystal glass of sherry in her hand.

Garrett stood by the window, his tie loosened, his hair disheveled.

He looked older than thirty-two.

“Clara,” Garrett said, his voice hollow.

“What are you doing here?”

“I brought the paperwork for your signature, Garrett,” I said.

I took the legal documents from Marcus’s briefcase.

Vivian set her glass down with a sharp clink against the marble table.