For ten years, I had been just Valerie Cross, the girl from the West Side who worked fifteen-hour shifts.

Now, the ink was wet on the paper that controlled twelve high-rise buildings and thirty cargo ships.

I turned the page and signed again.

Marcus Vance watched me closely, his hands folded in front of his overcoat.

“The board will not be easy to manage, Valerie,” Marcus said.

“They are loyal to the profits, not the name.”

“I know,” I said.

“I have listened to them talk in the dining room for six months.”

“I know who is greedy, and I know who is afraid.”

“I will handle the board.”

I signed the final page and laid the pen back down in its bronze holder.

Nathaniel took the papers and blew on the ink to dry it.

He placed them back into the blue folders and closed them with a snap.

“It is done,” Nathaniel said.

Miranda stood by the window, her face pressed against the glass as if she were trying to see through the rain.

“Where am I supposed to go?” she asked.