At 1:45 P.M., the heavy glass doors of Saint Vincent's Medical Center opened into the misty rain.

Valon walked out first, wearing his dark wool coat, his arm wrapped firmly around my waist. I wore my wet cashmere sweater, my handbag tucked beneath my arm, my head resting slightly against his shoulder, pretending to look exhausted, fragile, and utterly defeated.

Harrison stood near the curb beside his silver Mercedes sedan, holding a black leather briefcase. When he saw us walking together, a subtle flicker of triumph flashed across his sharp, avian features before he quickly smoothed it into a look of professional sympathy.

"Valon, Sigrid," Harrison said, stepping forward under his black umbrella. "How are you feeling, Sigrid? The doctor said you were cleared?"

"I'm tired, Harrison," I said, keeping my voice faint, trembling. "I just want this day to be over. I want to sign the papers and go to my apartment."

"Of course, my dear," Harrison said smoothly, opening his briefcase on the hood of his sedan. He pulled out two sets of stapled legal documents and a heavy silver pen. "I have the final dissolution petition right here. Page 14 requires your signature, waiving all claims to the Meta family trusts. Page 18 assigns the intellectual property of the Northern Table to you personally."

"And the land lease?" I asked, looking up at him through wet eyelashes.

"The commercial lease remains under the current holding firm," Harrison lied smoothly, tapping the paper with his silver pen. "Standard terms. Nothing for you to worry about."

Valon stood beside me, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, his face an impenetrable wall of granite.

"Sign it, Sigrid," Valon said, his voice flat, sounding exactly like a man who had given up the fight. "Let's be done with this."

I took the silver pen from Harrison’s hand.

My fingers trembled as I pressed the nib against the crisp white paper on Page 14.

Harrison watched my hand with ravenous intensity, his breath catching in his throat as the ink touched the page.

S-i-g-r-i-d

I completed the first signature.

I flipped to Page 18.

M-e-t-a

I signed my full, married name across the dotted line.

Harrison instantly snatched the signed documents off the hood of the car, inspecting the signatures with a satisfied smirk.

"Exquisite," Harrison breathed, sliding the papers into his leather briefcase and snapping the brass locks shut. "I will file these directly with the clerk downtown. The dissolution will be finalized by 4:00 P.M. Valon, my congratulations on a clean settlement."

Harrison extended his hand toward Valon.

Valon didn't take it.

Instead, Valon pulled his right hand out of his coat pocket, holding his encrypted phone. He pressed a single button on the screen.

Down the block, three black, unmarked SUVs tore around the corner, their sirens blaring as they mounted the sidewalk, blocking Harrison’s Mercedes from the front and rear.

Six armed men in dark tactical gear with Waterfront Commission Investigations emblazoned across their vests poured out of the vehicles, their sidearms drawn.

Harrison froze, his face turning the color of wet paper. "Valon?! What is the meaning of this?!"

Julian Vance stepped out of the lead SUV, wearing his gray suit, holding a federal seizure warrant in his hand.

"Harrison Cole," Julian Vance announced, his clear voice echoing over the sound of the rain. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit extortion, wire fraud, and illegal commercial land acquisition under the RICO Act."