“Mr. Whitmore, step back,” the detective said.

“Now.”

Grant froze, his arm still extended, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

A bead of sweat ran down the side of his temple, disappearing into his sideburns.

“This is a domestic dispute,” Grant said, his voice dropping an octave as he tried to regain his composure.

“It has nothing to do with the validity of the Maribel’s corporate structure.”

“It has everything to do with it,” Diane Cho said.

My attorney walked into the room, her leather briefcase tucked under her arm.

She stood beside me, her presence calm and solid.

“If the deed was forged, the land transfer is void,” Diane said.

“Which means Whitmore Caldwell Development does not own the dirt the Maribel is sitting on.”

“And my client, Vivian Whitmore, remains the sole owner of the intellectual property and the land.”

Caleb Rhodes stood up from his chair.

He adjusted the cuffs of his grey suit jacket.

He did not look at Grant.

Instead, he looked directly at me.

“Vivian,” Caleb said. “I apologize for this circus.”

“We had no idea Grant was operating under these conditions.”