Tessa Monroe was on the floor with Grant’s eighteen-month-old son pressed against her chest, one arm curved around the back of his head while she struggled to catch her breath. The child’s face was buried against her shoulder, his small body shaking with the uneven sobs that came after crying too hard for too long.

The boardroom on the top floor of the Mercer Global Tower overlooked the entire city skyline through forty-foot glass walls.

At the head of the long oak table sat Victor Cross, Vivienne’s father—a ruthless corporate raider in his sixties with slicked-back grey hair. Beside him stood Vivienne, dressed in a sharp white designer suit, holding a leather folder containing forged corporate proxy documents.

Around the table sat ten board members, whispering nervously amongst themselves.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Victor Cross announced, slamming his palm on the table to call the meeting to order. “As you know, our Chief Executive, Grant Mercer, has been suffering immense personal strain over the last two months following his wife’s severe psychiatric breakdown.”

Vivienne stepped forward, her face a mask of sorrowful concern. “It pains me to say this, as a close family friend, but Grant is no longer capable of making sound operational decisions. Elena Mercer is permanently institutionalized, and Grant has neglected his corporate duties.”

She opened her folder, sliding a stack of papers toward the lead board member.

“These are the emergency proxy authorization forms,” Vivienne lied smoothly. “Signed by Dr. Alistair Vance, declaring Elena mentally incapacitated, transferring her five percent corporate voting stake to Cross Holdings. Combined with our existing shares, we now hold fifty-one percent controlling interest in Mercer Global.”

The lead board member adjusted his glasses, reviewing the papers. “This is a drastic measure, Vivienne. Has Grant been notified of this vote?”

“Grant is currently in Vermont dealing with his wife’s condition,” Vivienne said, offering a tight, triumphant smile. “He will be compensated, of course, but control of this firm passes to Cross Holdings effective immediately.”

BANG.

The heavy double doors of the boardroom were thrown open with a thunderous crack that vibrated through the glass walls.

The entire board turned in shock.

Grant Mercer walked into the room, dressed in an immaculate charcoal suit, his presence commanding absolute silence.

Beside him walked Elena Mercer. She wore a stunning emerald-green dress, her dark hair styled elegantly, her head held high, looking every bit the queen of the Mercer empire.

And trailing behind them was Owen Park, accompanied by four uniformed officers from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Vivienne’s breath caught in her throat. Her face turned the color of chalk, the leather folder slipping from her fingers and hitting the floor with a loud thud.

“Grant...?” Victor Cross stammered, scrambling to his feet. “Elena? What... what is the meaning of this?”

“The meaning, Victor,” Grant said, his deep voice carrying into every corner of the vast room, “is that your proxy vote is invalid.”