Richard charged up the remaining steps. He raised his hand.
Grace flinched, squeezing her eyes shut. But the blow didn't land. She had swung her suitcase up instinctively, the hard plastic shell taking the impact of her father's hand with a loud thwack.
She opened her eyes. The fear was still there, pounding in her chest, but something else had joined it. Anger. Cold and sharp.
"I'm married," Grace said, her voice shaking but audible. "You don't own me anymore."
Richard's face turned a shade of purple Grace had never seen. "Married? To who? That corporate shark you hired?"
"His name is Alaric Hunter," Collins yelled from the top of the stairs. "The man who just cost us millions!"
Richard laughed, a cruel, grinding sound. "Fine. Excellent. Since you're a married woman, your husband can pay for your mother's specialized care facility."
The blood drained from Grace's face. "No."
Richard pulled out his phone. He dialed a number, putting it on speaker. "Dr. Evans? This is Richard Kirk. Cancel the private payments for Catherine Kirk. Move her to the state ward. Effective immediately."
"No!" Grace screamed. She lunged for the phone, but Tyler caught her arm, holding her back.
"Grace, stop," Tyler whispered, his breath hot on her ear. "Just apologize. I can fix this with your dad. Just beg him."
Grace stomped on Tyler's instep with her heel. He yelped and let go.
"I will find the money," Grace hissed at her father. "I will figure it out. And when I do, you will never see either of us again."
"Get out!" Richard roared. "And don't come crawling back when that monster dumps you!"
Grace turned and ran. She burst out the front door into the night. It had started to rain-a cold, biting downpour that soaked her shirt in seconds.
She didn't stop running until she reached the corner, the Maybach still waiting patiently where she'd left it. She collapsed into the back seat, shivering violently.
She had nowhere to go. Her apartment wasn't safe; her father knew where it was. She was legally shielded but financially and emotionally devastated.
Her phone rang. Unknown Number.
She stared at it, then swiped answer. "Hello?"
"Grace?" The voice was deep, calm. Alaric. "Where are you? My security detail lost visual."
Grace let out a sob. She couldn't help it. The dam broke. "My father's house. I... I got kicked out."
There was a pause on the line. "Send me your location. I'm coming to get you."
"You're in a meeting," Grace asked, wiping her eyes. She remembered he had to go to his office.
Alaric hesitated. "The meeting is over. Sit tight."
He hung up. Inside the climate-controlled interior of his office, Alaric turned to Marcus.
"Find me the location of the nearest state-run long-term care facility to this address," he ordered. "And get me the administrator on the phone. I am making a donation. An anonymous one. It will cover the care of a Catherine Kirk. In perpetuity."
Marcus looked like he was about to cry. "Sir, you want me to arrange a multi-million dollar endowment in-"
"Ten minutes, Marcus."
Thirty minutes later, a black Maybach, identical to the one she was in, rattled up to the curb. The engine was silent, a predator in the rain.
The driver's door opened. Alaric stepped out. He was wearing the same perfect suit, now shielded by a black umbrella.
Grace looked up at him, her hair plastered to her skull, her eyes red and swollen.
Alaric didn't say a word. He walked over, opened her car door, and extended a hand.
"Let's go home," he said.
Grace took his hand. It was warm. She climbed out of one car and into the other. The new car smelled of nothing but clean leather and power. The heater was blasting.
For the first time that day, Grace stopped shaking.
