The quiet inside the hospital suite was suddenly broken by a soft knock on the door.

Valon immediately stepped between the door and my bed, his hand moving smoothly beneath his armpit, reaching for the concealed holster he always wore beneath his shirt.

"Who is it?" Valon demanded.

"It's Harrison, Valon," his attorney’s calm, cultured voice came through the thick wood paneling. "The security guards downstairs said you were still on the sixth floor. The judge agreed to hold the dissolution filing until 2:00 P.M., but we need your signature on the temporary stay order."

I looked at Valon, my blood running cold.

Valon slowly pulled his hand out from his shirt. His face was entirely unreadable—an impenetrable mask of granite. He turned his head slightly toward me, placing one finger against his lips in a silent command for me to remain quiet.

He walked over to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open just wide enough to step out into the hallway.

"Harrison," Valon said smoothly, slipping out into the corridor and closing the door behind him until it clicked shut.

I didn't stay in bed.

The moment the door latched, I swung my legs off the mattress, holding my IV pole with my right hand, and crept silently toward the heavy wooden door. I pressed my ear against the cold surface, straining to hear through the acoustic insulation.

"...she needs rest," Valon was saying, his voice perfectly controlled, friendly, and completely normal. "The doctor said it's severe exhaustion."

"Of course, of course," Harrison replied, his tone oozing professional concern. "I completely understand, Valon. But from a purely legal perspective, if Sigrid is medically incapacitated today, her council might argue tomorrow that she was under undue duress when she agreed to waive the penthouse asset clause."

"Is that right?" Valon murmured.

"Yes," Harrison continued smoothly. "I strongly advise we have her sign the finalized property release now while she is coherent. It protects you, Valon. Once she signs the waiver for the Brooklyn real estate, the Meta family accounts are completely insulated from any future claims."

"You've worked very hard on this settlement, Harrison," Valon said.

"Ten years serving your family, Valon. I only want what is best for the Meta enterprise."

"I know you do," Valon replied softly. "Tell me, Harrison... where did you get the lease evaluation report for the Northern Table?"

A brief, heavy pause echoed through the corridor.

"I... I requested it from Vance & Associates last month," Harrison said, his voice maintaining its steady, professional cadence. "Standard due diligence for the property division."

"And did Julian Vance give it to you personally?"

"His office emailed the pdf," Harrison answered without hesitation. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Valon said. I heard the sound of a leather folder being opened. "Where do I sign the stay order?"

"Right here on the line, Valon. I'll take care of the court filings personally."

"Thank you, Harrison. Wait for me in the lobby downstairs. I will bring Sigrid down in twenty minutes."

"Exquisite," Harrison said, his footsteps retreating down the carpeted hallway toward the elevators.

The door to my room opened, and Valon stepped back inside. He locked the deadbolt, turned around, and looked at me standing near the wall with my IV pole.

He didn't scold me for getting out of bed.

"He bought the lease options," Valon said flatly.

I blinked. "What?"

"Harrison didn't just want us divorced," Valon said, walking over to the window and looking down at the street below. "Harrison registered a shell company in Delaware three months ago. He used Marko's indictment as leverage to buy the commercial land trust beneath the Brooklyn waterfront. He owns the building where the Northern Table sits, Sigrid."

The air left my lungs in a cold gasp. "He owns my restaurant's building?"

"If you and I divorced today," Valon explained, turning his head to look at me, "the property settlement stated that you received the Northern Table, but not the land beneath it. Once our marriage was legally dissolved, Harrison was going to double your commercial rent, force you into default, and seize the restaurant for himself."

"Why?" I choked out, wrapping my arms around my waist. "Why would your own lawyer do that to me?!"

"Because Harrison didn't care about the restaurant," Valon whispered, his dark eyes flaring with lethal understanding. "Harrison wanted the deep-water access docks behind your kitchen. The only private docking facility on the Brooklyn waterfront that doesn't go through the Meta family security checkpoints."