The front door had been opened by Jennings, their father’s butler for thirty years.

“Your father is in the study, Mr. Mercer,” Jennings had said, bowing his head slightly.

Arthur Mercer sat behind a massive mahogany desk, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

The room smelled of old paper, leather, and expensive tobacco.

“You took your time,” Arthur said, not looking up from his tablet.

“The traffic was bad,” Luke replied, stepping into the room.

Vivian closed the heavy oak door behind them, her face pale but composed.

“Have you decided to be sensible, Luke?” Arthur asked, finally looking up.

His eyes were cold, like grey slate.

“I’m here,” Luke said, walking toward the desk. “Let’s see the documents.”

Arthur slid a thick manila folder across the polished wood.

“Sign the transfer of the holding shares,” Arthur said. “Once that is done, Elena’s exit package will be processed.”

“And the divorce?” Luke asked, his hand hovering over the pen on the desk.

“It is already finalized,” Arthur said smoothly. “The court received the signed affidavits yesterday.”

Luke picked up the heavy gold pen, his fingers tightening around the metal.