I looked at the small burner phone I had taken from the cabin before the fire.

It was a cheap prepaid phone I had bought in Boston, untouched by their tracking software.

“I’m going to call him,” I said.

“Claire, no,” Alexander said, grabbing my wrist. “He’ll track the call.”

“Let him,” I said. “But we set the terms.”

I would offer him a trade.

The forged original trust amendment in exchange for my father’s safety and a quiet divorce.

It was exactly what Julian wanted—complete, unquestioned control of Whitmore Global.

He would believe I was desperate and willing to surrender.

“Where will you meet him?” Alexander asked.

“Somewhere public,” I said. “Somewhere he cannot use his men without the whole world seeing.”

The Whitmore Global annual gala was happening in two days at the Plaza Hotel.

The city’s elite, the press, and Senator Sterling would all be there.

Julian would have to face me in the middle of a crowded ballroom.

He would agree to the meeting because he couldn’t risk the document being mailed to the board.

I picked up the phone and powered it on.