“They have the votes, Mariana,” he added quietly. “Harrison controls the trust seats, and Rebecca’s father controls the banking block.”

“So you lose everything,” I said, leaning against my worktable.

“Everything I built,” Jonathan said. “Every hotel, every property, the entire corporate structure.”

He sat down on the edge of a wooden stool, his head sinking into his hands.

I looked across the room toward the small hallway that led to the bedrooms where our children slept.

Liam’s blue plastic truck sat on the floor near the bookshelf, its plastic wheels slightly crooked.

I thought of their small faces, their quiet breathing in the dark, completely unaware of the storm gathering outside our door.

“What are you going to do?” I asked him.

Before he could answer, a sharp buzz cut through the silence of the room.

It was Jonathan’s phone, vibrating against the hard wood of the worktable.

The screen illuminated the dark corner of the room, displaying Benjamin’s name.

Jonathan reached out and swiped the screen, putting the call on speaker.

“Benjamin,” Jonathan said. “I’m with Mariana.”