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“I had an architecture license, a studio, and three commercial contracts.”
“You had nothing.”
“And yet you needed to forge my signature.”
His face went white.
Sabrina whispered behind him, “You told me she would sign willingly.”
Grant spun around.
“Shut up.”
David stepped forward once.
Grant suddenly looked surrounded.
He grabbed the divorce folder.
“This conversation is over.”
“Not quite.”
He turned.
I pointed toward the front windows.
Two black SUVs had pulled up outside.
Grant stared at them.
“Who are they?”
“People from an independent forensic accounting firm.”
His voice cracked.
“You brought auditors here?”
“And outside counsel.”
“You’re insane.”
“No.”
I moved closer.
“I’m thorough.”
He glanced at the door.
“You cannot detain me.”
“I’m not going to.”
I opened it.
“You are completely free to leave.”
He hesitated.
“And tomorrow morning,” I continued, “the board receives every document in this room.”
That stopped him.
For years, Grant believed scandal was what I feared most.
He was wrong.
My real fear had been realizing how much of myself I had surrendered to preserve a marriage that only worked when I was useful.
That fear was gone.
Grant turned back.
“If you do this, you destroy the company.”
“No.”
I held his gaze.
“I’m going to find out whether the company can survive without protecting you.”
His expression turned poisonous.
“You think they’ll choose you?”
“I think they’ll choose their money.”
David smiled.
Grant looked at him, then Nolan, then Sabrina.
Sabrina would not meet his eyes.
Their great romance was already cracking.
Not because of morality.
Because of liability.
Before Grant finally left, he leaned close and whispered: