The next morning.
Alysia sat in a glass-walled conference room on the sixtieth floor of a Wall Street law firm.
Across from her sat Mr. Sterling, the trust attorney.
He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, a smug, patronizing smile on his face.
"Your brother filed the injunction this morning, Alysia. He intends to freeze the transfer of the penthouse."
Alysia opened the heavy leather-bound trust document on the table.
She flipped directly to page thirty.
She tapped her manicured fingernail against a specific paragraph.
"Read the contingency clause out loud, Mr. Sterling."
Sterling sighed, annoyed.
"The beneficiary must enter into a legally binding marriage before her twenty-fourth birthday to secure absolute ownership of the property."
Alysia glanced at the digital clock on the wall.
"I turn twenty-four in exactly forty-six hours."
Sterling leaned back in his chair.
"Which means you are out of time. Take the cash settlement your father offered. It's better than walking away with nothing."
Alysia studied the way Sterling's eyes darted toward the door.
"You played golf with Kaden on Tuesday at Shinnecock Hills," she stated.
Sterling's smile vanished.
"I maintain professional relationships with all members of the Kent family."
Alysia reached into her trench coat pocket.
She pulled out a single sheet of paper and slid it across the polished mahogany table.
It was a transaction log she had pulled from the dark web at 3:00 AM.
Sterling looked down.
Sweat instantly beaded on his forehead.
The red highlighted lines detailed exactly how much client money he had embezzled into an offshore account in the Caymans.
Alysia leaned forward, invading his space.
"You will reject Kaden's injunction immediately. You will have the title transfer documents ready."
Sterling swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"Even if I stall him, Alysia, the board will seize the property if you don't produce a marriage certificate. I can't fake a legal marriage."
Alysia stood up.
She smoothed the front of her coat.
"Have the paperwork on your desk. You'll have the certificate in forty-six hours."
She walked out of the law firm and onto the freezing streets of lower Manhattan.
The wind whipped her hair across her face.
She pulled out her phone and opened an encrypted messaging app.
She typed a quick message to an underground information broker she used in her past lives.
I need a list of single men in Manhattan. Desperate for capital. Willing to sign an extreme ironclad prenup. Two hours.
Thirty minutes later, Alysia sat in a dimly lit, overpriced coffee shop in Tribeca.
She scrolled through the encrypted file on her iPad.
Candidate one: A bankrupt hedge fund manager.
She looked at his photo. His eyes were greedy. She swiped left.
Candidate two: A C-list actor looking for a PR stunt.
She grimaced, feeling bile rise in her throat at the thought of dealing with paparazzi. Swiped left.
She rejected fifteen men in ten minutes.
Frustration tightened her chest.
She picked up her black coffee and took a scalding sip.
She glanced up at the muted television mounted above the barista station.
The ticker at the bottom read: CANTRELL GROUP CEO FACES BOARD OUSTER OVER REFUSAL TO MARRY.
The screen flashed to a photograph of Jude Cantrell.
His face was a study in sharp angles and absolute cruelty.
His slate-gray eyes stared out from the screen, devoid of any warmth.
Alysia's brain immediately accessed the data from her previous simulations.
Jude Cantrell.
Ruthless. Cold. Currently fighting a massive internal war for control of his company's core AI division.
He was the ultimate shield against the Kent family.
Alysia set her coffee down.
She pulled up a terminal window on her iPad and began typing lines of code.
She bypassed the firewall of the New York City Hall appointment registry.
She searched for any activity related to the Cantrell name.
A hit popped up.
Alex Vance, Jude's chief of staff, had just canceled a lunch reservation at a restaurant two blocks from City Hall.
Jude was down there.
He was either signing compliance documents or hiding from his grandfather's arranged marriage prospects.
Alysia closed the iPad and shoved it into her bag.
She threw a hundred-dollar bill on the table and ran out the door.
She flagged down a yellow cab.
"City Hall. Step on it."
The cab jerked forward, weaving violently through the midday traffic.
Alysia stared at her watch.
The minutes bled away.
When the cab finally screeched to a halt outside City Hall, Alysia saw them.
Three black, bulletproof SUVs were parked illegally by the curb.
The air around the vehicles felt heavy, dangerous.
Alysia took a deep breath, aligning her spine.
She pushed through the revolving doors, walking straight into the fire.
