“The Whitmores are being processed as we speak.”

My chest tightened at the mention of the name.

“Is it over?” I asked.

“For them, yes,” Julian said. “The conspiracy charges regarding your husband’s death are solid.”

He leaned back in his leather chair, looking suddenly very tired.

“The state has enough evidence to ensure none of them see the light of day for a very long time.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

The justice I had spent months praying for felt heavy, almost silent.

“And what about you, Julian?” I asked, looking at the corporate charter on the table.

“The deal is signed,” he said simply.

“The Department of Justice accepted the restructuring of the shipping lines.”

He pointed to the document between us.

“The old ways are done, Claire.”

“We are legitimate now.”

I looked down at the paper, reading the bold letters: *Mercer-Dawson Maritime*.

“I don’t know anything about shipping, Julian,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“You know how to manage people,” he said, leaning forward.

“You know how to spot when someone is lying to you.”