“We will,” I said, looking out the window at the rain-soaked skyline.

“But we will do it on my terms.”

Julian smiled faintly, closing his briefcase with a sharp click.

“I will prepare the paperwork for the name change,” Julian whispered to me as the board began to murmur among themselves.

“The Whitlock Luxe name is tarnished, but the assets are still ours.”

“We will rebuild,” I said.

I looked down at my hands, which were no longer shaking.

We walked out of the boardroom and back toward the elevators, leaving the panicking board behind.

As we reached the lobby, the elevator doors slid open to reveal a crowd of reporters waiting outside the glass entrance.

The flashing lights of their cameras reflected off the wet pavement outside.

Priya’s phone buzzed in her pocket, a sharp, insistent sound.

She pulled it out and stared at the screen, her brow furrowing.

“Evelyn, you need to see this,” Priya said, her voice tight.

“It is an alert from the security team at the Park Avenue penthouse.”

I looked at the screen, where a live video feed showed the front door of my old home.