Nathan’s hand remained on the doorframe, his knuckles white.

“It is,” Nathan said, though his smile did not reach his eyes. “The contractor discovered dry rot behind the plaster, so we had to act quickly.”

I took three steps forward, the cold marble of the foyer floor biting into the soles of my feet.

“There is no dry rot, Arthur,” I said.

Nathan turned his head slightly, his gaze darting toward me with a silent, sharp warning.

I ignored him and kept my eyes on the board members.

“My husband is attempting to renovate this penthouse without my permission, or the permission of the Crane Family Trust,” I said.

Sloane Vale took a step back in the kitchen, her heels clicking against the hardwood.

The sound drew Arthur’s attention, his brow furrowing as he looked at her.

“And who is this?” Arthur asked, looking back at Nathan. “I was under the impression only family was present.”

“Sloane is the consultant for the emergency repairs,” Nathan said quickly, his voice rising a fraction. “She was simply assessing the structural damage.”