The morning sun hit the glass tower of Vale Meridian Holdings like a scalpel. Margaret and his father, Arthur, sat at the end of the mahogany boardroom table, their faces pale but their postures rigid with defensive pride. Vanessa sat behind them, furiously typing on her phone, trying to maintain an illusion of control. They had brought three high-priced defense attorneys, men who looked around the room with the practiced confidence of wolves.
Then I walked in. I wasn’t wearing the soft linen dresses Daniel liked. I wore a tailored, midnight-black suit, my hair pulled back, the bruise on my cheek entirely uncovered.
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