“What is the meaning of this?” Nico asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous register.

“My name is not Harper Kelly, Nico,” I said, stepping closer to their table.

“My name is Harper Wren.”

Seraphina’s hand flew to her collarbone, her nails digging into her skin.

“Lila Wren’s daughter,” Denise Vale announced, stepping forward and placing her briefcase on the edge of the mahogany table.

“We are here to discuss the deed to The Marigold Room,” Denise said.

“You have no business here, counselor,” Nico said, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his steak knife.

“Actually, she does,” Evelyn Bellamy said, her voice clear and steady despite her age.

“I was there forty years ago, Nico, when your father forced Lila’s mother to sign over the title under duress.”

“I watched him sign the forged transfer documents with my own eyes,” Evelyn added, looking directly at the patrons who were now whispering.

“That is a lie from a senile old woman,” Seraphina spat, her elegant composure cracking.

Denise opened her briefcase and pulled out a stack of notarized affidavits and bank records.

“We have the forensic audit of the 1984 transition, Mrs. Romano,” Denise said.

“And we have the original partnership agreement that proves Lila Wren was the sole legal heir.”

Several diners at nearby tables began pulling out their phones, the screens glowing in the dim dining room.

Nico stood up slowly, towering over the table and smoothing his silk tie.

The muscles in his jaw worked as he looked around the room, assessing the damage to his family’s reputation.

“We can discuss this in my office, quietly,” Nico said, his voice lowering to a whisper as he stepped toward me.

He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit jacket, trying to project absolute control over the room.

“There is nothing to discuss in private,” I said, looking him dead in the eye.