I looked down at him, completely unmoved by his tears. I checked my watch.
“Thirty seconds,” I said coldly.
Caleb scrambled to his feet, grabbing his jacket and snatching his useless phone from the table. He grabbed Chanel by the arm, dragging her toward the heavy oak front doors. Chanel was crying now, completely terrified of the entire situation.
But as Caleb threw open the front door to flee into the afternoon sun, he froze dead in his tracks.
Standing on the driveway, blocking the exit entirely, were three blacked-out SUVs. A dozen men in dark, tactical suits stood in a perfect perimeter, arms crossed. Standing in the center of them was a tall man in a tailored gray suit holding a thick leather briefcase.
It was Marcus Thorne—the most feared asset-protection lawyer in the country, a man who only worked for clients with nine-figure net worths.
Marcus looked up, met my eyes through the open door, and gave a respectful nod. Then, he looked at Caleb with a cold, professional smile.
“Mr. Vance,” Marcus’s booming voice carried across the lawn. “I believe you have something that belongs to my client. And before you step off this property, there is a small matter of a criminal fraud warrant we need to discuss…”
Caleb staggered backward, his back hitting the doorframe, trapped between the global empire his wife commanded inside, and the legal firing squad waiting for him outside.
I took a sip of my water, leaning against the kitchen counter, and watched his world completely implode.
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