"He boarded the private charter to New York at dawn," Marcus said, his tread muffled by the thick wool rug.
I kept my back to the head of security. Three years after my ruined wedding, the relentless London rain still hammered against the bulletproof glass of the estate, mimicking the storm from that night.
"Justin finally ran dry?" I asked, keeping my tone flat.
I traced a finger over the curve of my five-month pregnancy.
"Every last cent of his overseas dividends," Marcus confirmed, stopping a respectful distance away. "Our inside contacts flagged his accounts zeroing out at midnight. The offshore shell companies are drained."
"It took him thirty-six months to bankrupt himself," I murmured, a dry laugh scraping my throat. "I gave him four years. I overestimated his restraint."
"He is bringing Chloe back with him," Marcus added. "Her aplastic anemia has reached a critical stage. She requires specialized treatment only available in the States."
"Treatment requires funding," I pointed out, turning away from the gray skyline. "Funding he no longer possesses."
"He filed an emergency proxy request an hour ago. He plans to use her failing health to petition the board for the ancestral Sinclair shares."
"The dying adopted sister routine." I walked slowly toward the center of the room, my slippers silent against the floorboards. "He always plays the same hand when he needs a bailout."
"The board elders have always harbored a soft spot for him, Mrs. Sinclair. Evelyn has been lobbying them for weeks. They might cave to the public spectacle."
"They will do what they are told to do," I countered, my eyes locking onto his. "Evelyn can cry to the elders all she wants. The board answers to the majority shareholder."
"Justin intends to challenge that majority."
"Let him."
I turned from the window. Marcus held out a black folder stamped with the eagle crest. Inside were Justin's proxy petition, his flight details, and a list of elders who had agreed to meet him after he landed.
"He wants an audience," I said. "I'll give him one."
The library door opened behind us. Marcus straightened before Brandon crossed the threshold, already dressed for travel in a charcoal suit. His gaze went first to the folder in my hand, then to the curve of my stomach.
"You planned to leave without telling me," he said.
"I planned to tell you after I booked the jet."
"The jet has been ready since Marcus received the alert."
I glanced at the security chief. He offered no apology.
Brandon stopped in front of me and fastened the top button of my coat, shielding the pregnancy from view. His knuckles brushed my belly, and the baby shifted beneath his hand.
The severity in his face eased for a heartbeat.
"You don't have to confront Justin yourself," he said.
"Yes, I do. He still believes the woman he abandoned is waiting for him to come back. I want him to meet the woman who replaced her."
Brandon held my gaze, then offered me his arm. "New York, then."
By the time our plane cleared the rain over London, Marcus had sealed the VIP corridor at JFK and transferred Justin's challenge documents to my tablet. Three years of preparation had come down to a single homecoming.
I intended to make it memorable.
