Darcie Mayo POV:
A yellow taxi pulled up to the gleaming glass-and-steel monolith of Maxwell Tower. I stepped out.
The woman who had fled in a soaking wet robe was gone. In her place stood a woman in a severe, black power suit, her hair pulled back in a tight, merciless chignon. My face was a blank mask.
The paparazzi, who had been camped out for days, erupted into a frenzy of flashing lights. I ignored them, my eyes fixed on the revolving doors.
Gwendolyn’s security guards recognized me immediately, moving to block my path. They were large, imposing men, but I didn't flinch.
I didn't try to force my way past. I simply met the lead guard’s eyes and spoke, my voice calm and level. "Please inform Mr. Sterling that Darcie Mayo is here to discuss the 1920 Covenant."
The guard’s professional impassivity faltered. He’d never heard the name, but the authority in my voice gave him pause. He spoke quietly into his wrist communicator.
Minutes later, the doors opened and Sterling himself appeared. The family’s top lawyer. His sharp eyes widened almost imperceptibly when he saw me, a flicker of shock and intense appraisal.
He led me not to Gwendolyn's penthouse office, but to a small, sterile conference room on a lower floor. He wanted to test the waters first.
"Ms. Mayo," he began, his tone accusatory. "Your actions have caused a significant amount of trouble for the Maxwell family."
I didn't rise to the bait. I slid a printed copy of the covenant across the polished table. "I'm not here to apologize, Mr. Sterling. I'm here to exercise my rights."
He picked up the document. His eyes scanned the title, then locked onto Article 3, Section B, which I had circled in red ink. For the first time since I’d met him, Sterling’s legendary composure cracked.
He put on his reading glasses, his expression turning grave as he read the forgotten clause word for word.
He looked up, his eyes filled with disbelief. "This… this is archaic. It can't possibly be valid."
"It is," I said, my voice flat. "Unless a subsequent document was signed by the heads of both families to dissolve it. I've checked the public records and the Mayo family archives. No such document exists. Does the Maxwell family have one?" My research had been meticulous. I had anticipated this exact argument.
Sterling was silent. He knew I was right. On paper, it was ironclad.
He took a deep breath, trying another angle. "And how, exactly, do you intend to prove Hugh's… 'compromised character'?"
I reached into my handbag and placed a tiny digital audio recorder on the table. I pressed play.
The sounds of Hugh and Floy’s sordid conversation filled the silent room. Their laughter. Their insults. Their plotting.
Sterling’s face turned to stone. He jabbed the stop button before the recording was even halfway through.
He looked at me then, truly looked at me, and a shiver of something like fear crossed his features. He saw that I wasn't a hysterical girl. I was an adversary. And I had come prepared.
He removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as if fighting off a headache. His voice was laced with a weary resignation. "Theoretically, your claim is legal."
He paused, his eyes meeting mine, dark and serious.
"But Gwendolyn will kill you."
