The study was thick with tension. Silas Luna paced back and forth on the expensive Persian rug, his face etched with anxiety.
"What were you thinking, Candice?" he demanded, his voice tight. "To provoke him like that? You've just thrown gasoline on a fire!"
"He was already holding the match, Dad," she shot back, her voice raw. "Hansen Industries was never going to be our partner. They're predators."
"Business is full of predators!" Silas argued, his voice rising. "You don't spit in their eye, you negotiate! You find a way to survive!"
They were shouting now, the raw fear and pressure of the last twenty-four hours finally boiling over. Candice saw the exhaustion on her father's face, the deep lines of worry that hadn't been there in her first life, not yet. He was a good man, a brilliant inventor, but he was out of his depth in this world of corporate sharks.
She took a deep breath, forcing the anger down. "Give me one week," she said, her voice suddenly calm and steady. "One week, and I will bring you proof that Hansen's hedge fund is actively short-selling our stock. I'll prove it's a coordinated attack."
Silas stopped pacing. He looked at his daughter, at the unwavering conviction in her eyes. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "One week, Candice. That's all I can give you."
She retreated to her room, the weight of that promise settling on her shoulders. She collapsed onto her bed, emotionally and physically drained.
Her phone buzzed, startling her. It was her best friend, Etta Hester.
"You are not going to believe this," Etta's voice chirped, loud and cheerful over the sound of cheering crowds and thundering hooves. "I'm at the charity polo match in the Hamptons, and you need to get out here. Right now."
"Etta, I can't," Candice mumbled into her pillow. "I'm not exactly in a party mood."
"This isn't about the party," Etta's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I have some gossip about the Hansens. Big gossip. You'll want to hear this in person."
The name was a jolt of electricity. Any information, any intel on Julius's next move, was critical.
"I'm on my way," Candice said, already swinging her legs off the bed.
An hour later, she was stepping onto the pristine green lawns of the Hamptons Polo Club. The sun was bright, the champagne was flowing, and the air was filled with the easy laughter of the ultra-rich.
Candice slid on a pair of oversized sunglasses, feeling a dozen pairs of eyes on her. The news of her confrontation with Julius must already be making the rounds.
Etta, a vibrant splash of color in a floral dress, ran over and threw her arms around her. "You look like hell, but in a chic, powerful way," she declared, pulling back to assess her. "I heard you kicked Julius to the curb. Is it true?"
Candice managed a weak smile. "Where's this information you have for me?"
Etta grinned. "Patience, my dear. First, champagne." She led Candice toward the VIP tent.
From the sidelines, Candice saw a familiar figure in white riding breeches, preparing to mount a sleek, brown stallion. Preston Hester.
He caught her eye and a broad, handsome smile lit up his face. He tipped his riding helmet to her in a gesture of greeting.
Candice's stomach tightened. She gave a curt nod and quickly looked away.
"Oh, stop it," Etta teased, nudging her. "My brother has been asking about you nonstop since your accident. Just give the guy a chance."
"He's not my type," Candice said firmly. "And I'm not looking for anything right now."
"His type is 'rich and breathing,' and you're both," Etta quipped, but she saw the hard set of Candice's jaw and dropped it.
The starting whistle blew, and the match began. Horses thundered across the field, mallets cracking against the ball. Preston was a skilled rider, moving with a fluid grace that drew cheers from the crowd.
Etta leaned in close, her voice a low murmur against the noise. "Okay, here's the scoop. Julius Hansen was supposed to play today. He cancelled at the last minute. My dad's source on his security team said he's been locked in his trading room since this morning, screaming at his analysts."
Candice's blood ran cold.
It had already begun. The financial assault was underway. And she was running out of time.
