Evelyn's POV
I grabbed the silver pen from Noah's fingers. The ink flowed black and sharp across the dotted line of the authorization form. I slid the duplicate into my bottom desk drawer and turned the brass key.
"Do not miss a single transaction," I told Noah.
"I never do," he replied. He folded the original document twice and slipped it into the inner pocket of his trench coat. "Keep him busy. I need time to trace the offshore accounts."
I smoothed the lapels of my navy blazer. "He is currently holding a press conference in my lobby. Busy is an understatement."
I walked out the door, leaving the investigator standing by my desk. The elevator ride down to the main floor took exactly thirty seconds.
The stainless steel doors chimed open to a wall of blinding white flashes.
Grant stood at the absolute center of a media circus. Dozens of reporters shoved microphones over the velvet security ropes. He had his arm draped heavily over Leo's shoulders. My sixteen-year-old son wore a stiff, uncomfortable grin, squinting against the strobe lights of the cameras.
"Mercer Maritime Holdings needs its founder," Grant announced. He pitched his voice to carry to the back row, playing the rugged hero for every camera. "I built this company. I survived the impossible to come back to it. Now, it is time to take the helm again and guide my family's legacy."
"Mr. Mercer!" a reporter shouted from the front. "Will your wife step down willingly?"
Grant patted Leo's chest. "Family comes first. Evelyn did her best, but the board needs strong leadership."
I pushed through the outer ring of camera crews. "Excuse me. Let the CEO through."
"Evelyn," Grant boomed. He extended his free hand toward me. "My beautiful wife. Here to welcome me back to the boardroom."
I ignored his outstretched fingers. I stepped in front of the primary microphone stand, effectively blocking him from the center camera feed.
"We are beyond thrilled to have Grant home," I projected my voice over the rising murmurs. "His survival is an absolute inspiration. That is exactly why the board and I convened an emergency session this morning to make a monumental decision."
"Effective immediately, Mercer Maritime Holdings is launching the Survivor's Charity Fund," I declared, staring into the red recording light of the nearest camera. "A fifty-million-dollar initiative dedicated to maritime search and rescue operations. And because no one understands this cause better than my husband, Grant will step away from corporate operations to serve as the full-time President of the Fund."
"Mr. Mercer, does this mean you are out of the executive suite?"
"Evelyn, is this a permanent reassignment?"
Grant's jaw locked. The muscles in his neck strained against his collar. I had just handed him a meaningless title and exiled him from every financial decision in the building.
He leaned in close, wrapping his arms around my shoulders in a crushing, uninvited hug. The cameras snapped wildly, capturing the touching reunion.
"You absolute bitch," he whispered into my ear, his tone venomous and sharp.
"Smile for the cameras, Mr. President," I whispered back, patting his spine twice. "You look fantastic on television."
I pulled away, maintaining a flawless, supportive grin. "My husband needs to rest. Thank you all for coming."
Concrete pillars cast long gray shadows across the underground parking garage. The media stayed upstairs, contained by the glass walls of the lobby.
Grant slammed his hand against the hood of my matte-black Porsche. The metal groaned under the heavy impact.
"A charity fund?" he shouted. The sound echoed off the low, damp ceiling. "You expect me to cut ribbon ceremonies and hand out giant checks while you run my empire?"
"You have no empire," I said. I pressed the button on my key fob. The car doors unlocked with a sharp beep. "You own nothing. You contribute nothing. You are a PR mascot."
Leo had stayed upstairs with Chloe, leaving just the two of us in the gasoline-scented air.
"I will rip this company apart," Grant threatened. He stepped into my path before I could reach the driver's side door.
"Try it. I hold the voting majority. The board answers to me."
Grant laughed. A harsh, scraping sound that held zero humor. He leaned his weight against the driver's door, trapping me between his body and the adjacent concrete pillar.
"You think this is just about shares?" he asked, tilting his head. "Leo hates you. He spent the entire morning in my hotel room telling me how cold you are. How you care more about profit margins than your own family."
I crossed my arms. I dug my nails into the fabric of my sleeves to hide the sudden tremor in my hands. "Leave Leo out of this."
"He is already in it," Grant snapped. He pointed a finger inches from my face. "If you do not reinstate me as CEO by Friday, I file for sole custody. I will drag you through family court."
"You abandoned him for five years," I countered. "You think a judge will hand a teenager over to a man who lives in a guest room with his pregnant mistress?"
"I am a national hero," Grant said, stepping closer. "And Celeste is a sympathetic figure. The media will eat it up. A brave woman who kept a man alive, now being bullied by the greedy corporate wife."
"You are delusional."
"Am I? Look at how the reporters treated me upstairs. They worship me. I control the narrative, Evelyn."
He pushed off the car. The leather of his shoes squeaked against the slick concrete floor.
"Friday, Evelyn. Or you lose your son entirely."
He turned his back on me and marched toward his silver rental sedan. I watched him throw the car into gear and tear out of the garage, the tires shrieking around the concrete exit ramp.
I pulled the door handle open and slid into the leather driver's seat. My hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ached. The threat hung in the quiet air of the garage. He would use my own son to destroy me.
Noah slipped into the passenger seat before I could hit the lock button. He smelled like stale coffee and ozone.
"You handled the press well," he said, adjusting the collar of his trench coat.
"He threatened to take my son," I replied, staring straight ahead at the blank concrete wall.
"He won't get the chance," Noah said. He unlocked his phone and opened a security clip Davis had exported from the house system.
"Grant took a call in the mudroom at two this morning," Noah explained. "The camera over the back entrance records audio because it covers the alarm panel. Davis flagged the clip after Grant started talking about company equity."
"Who was he talking to?"
"We only have his side of the call. Listen."
A door closed on the recording. Then Grant's voice filled the quiet confines of my car.
"Steady the old hag. Once I get my equity back, we kick her out."
