Morning light filtered through the heavy curtains. Haleigh woke up refreshed.
She took her time. She stretched. She went into the bathroom and showered loudly, singing opera off-key.
Only after she was fully dressed did she unlock the bedroom door. She left it wide open and went downstairs.
She didn't look back at the closet. She knew Brylee would scramble out the moment the coast was clear.
In the dining room, Gray was sitting at the head of the table. He looked like he hadn't slept. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was furiously texting under the table.
Haleigh poured herself a coffee. "Morning, darling."
Five minutes later, Brylee walked in.
She looked wrecked. Her hair was frizzy, her makeup was caked on in an attempt to hide dark circles, and her skin had a greyish tint. She was wearing a different dress than the night before-one of Haleigh's old ones that she must have grabbed from the closet.
"Brylee!" Haleigh exclaimed, setting her cup down loud enough to make them jump. "You're here early! Did you sleep over?"
Brylee flinched. "I... yes. In the guest house. I had insomnia."
"You look terrible," Haleigh said sympathetically. "Puffy eyes. Dehydrated."
The doorbell rang. The maid opened it, and Mr. and Mrs. Cooley swept in.
Mrs. Cooley looked immaculate in white tweed. She ignored Haleigh and kissed Gray on the cheek.
They all sat down. The tension was thick enough to choke on.
Mr. Cooley didn't waste time on pleasantries. He cut into his steak with surgical precision.
"Haleigh," he said without looking up. "We need to discuss Zenith."
Haleigh put down her fork. "Yes?"
" The Board feels you are overextended," Mr. Cooley said. "We've decided to bring Brylee in as a co-manager. To assist."
Brylee feigned surprise, pressing a hand to her chest. "Oh, Arthur, I'm just an art dealer. I don't know architecture."
"Management isn't about drawing pretty lines," Mrs. Cooley snapped. "It's about people skills. Haleigh is too... fragile lately."
"Fragile?" Haleigh repeated.
"We need stability," Gray chimed in, avoiding her eyes. "For the family. So you can focus on... trying for a baby."
At the mention of the baby, Brylee subconsciously smoothed her hand over her stomach. She shot Haleigh a look of pure, venomous triumph.
Haleigh saw the game. They wanted her out. They wanted the project, the money, and the credit.
"Zenith's contracts are tied to me as the lead architect," Haleigh said calmly. "If you remove me, the clients can walk."
"You are a Cooley," Mr. Cooley said, his voice dropping an octave. "Your name is an asset. We own it."
Haleigh looked around the table. The greedy faces. The lies.
She leaned back. "I'll step down."
The relief in the room was palpable. Gray let out a breath he'd been holding.
"However," Haleigh continued, holding up a finger. "I have a condition."
"Name it," Gray said quickly.
"I want the deed to the warehouse on Dowling Street. The old textile factory."
Mr. Cooley frowned. "That rusted heap? It's a liability. It's full of asbestos and squatters."
"I have a sentimental attachment to it," Haleigh lied. "I want to turn it into a private studio. Somewhere I can paint."
Mr. Cooley did the math in his head instantly. Zenith was worth hundreds of millions. The warehouse was a tax write-off worth maybe fifty grand.
"Done," Mr. Cooley said. "Transfer the Zenith signature authority to Brylee today. You get your pile of bricks."
Haleigh smiled. She took a sip of her coffee to hide the predatory glint in her eyes.
Hjalmer Barrett had told her that the Dowling Street warehouse sat directly in the path of the new high-speed rail line Barrett Holdings was announcing next month. Its value was about to skyrocket by four thousand percent.
"To family," Haleigh said, raising her mug.
She watched them drink, knowing they had just signed their own financial death warrants.
