I placed the roses on the reception desk.
“Congratulations,” I said.
Daniel blinked.
“Claire, wait.”
I turned and walked out.
In the elevator, my hands stopped shaking.
By the time I reached the parking garage, I had canceled the Paris trip.
By the time I started my car, I had frozen every joint personal account requiring my authorization.
By the time I reached home, I had called Miriam Shaw, my attorney.
She answered on the second ring.
“What happened?”
“I need the marital protection agreement activated.”
Silence.
Then:
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Daniel had spent years telling people he built Whitmore Dynamics from nothing.
That was his favorite lie.
The truth was much simpler.
My late father had founded the company.
And after his death, eighty-three percent of it passed to me.
Daniel knew I was a shareholder.
What he never bothered to understand was how my father had protected those shares, or the authority attached to them.
