She wore a damp trench coat and carried a heavy leather briefcase.

“What is the meaning of this?” Margaret demanded, standing up so quickly her chair nearly toppled. “This is a private family dinner.”

“The family is about to become significantly smaller,” Lena said, placing her briefcase on the sideboard.

She opened the brass clasps with two loud snaps.

“Who invited your lawyer, Nora?” Grant sneered, though his grip tightened on his wine glass.

“I did,” I said.

Lena handed a folder to Grant, one to Margaret, and kept the third.

“Mr. Mercer, we are here to serve you with a formal notice of default,” Lena said.

“Default on what?” Grant laughed, though his eyes darted toward the hallway. “The Mercer Group is thriving.”

“The Whitaker Family Capital loan of forty million dollars was contingent on your personal asset retention,” Lena explained calmly.

“If you attempt to enforce a fraudulent prenuptial agreement to strip Nora of her assets, you trigger the immediate acceleration clause of that loan.”

Grant’s face paled as he flipped through the pages.

“Furthermore,” Lena continued, “the board of Mercer Hospitality Group met two hours ago.”

“Without me?” Grant raised his voice, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor. “I am the CEO.”

“You were the CEO,” Lena corrected. “You have been officially ousted, effective immediately, due to the unauthorized transfer of corporate funds into offshore accounts.”

Blaire looked between Grant and Lena, her confidence visibly faltering. “Grant, what is she talking about? You said the money was secure.”

“Shut up, Blaire,” Grant snapped, his hands beginning to shake.

“He lied to you too,” I told Blaire, watching the color drain from her cheeks.

Lena pulled a tablet from her bag and tapped the screen.

“Before we discuss the criminal charges, let us look at how Mr. Mercer obtained the signature templates for his forgery,” Lena said.