The room tilted, but I refused to give them the collapse they had come to watch.
Connor pushed a pen onto my tray. “Sign. I’ll let you keep the apartment for three months. Be grateful.”
I looked at the papers, then at the man I had married six years ago, when he owned one suit and owed more money than he could count. He believed the company, the penthouse, and the invitations bearing his name had appeared because he was brilliant. He had forgotten who opened every door.
“Three months?” I asked.
Betsy smiled. “A woman with a daughter should learn humility.”
I kissed Brinley’s forehead and signed only the page acknowledging receipt. Connor did not notice the difference. He laughed, kissed Alyssa, and walked out with his mother trailing behind him.
The moment the door closed, I pressed the call button. My brother, Parker, arrived twenty minutes later. He was not merely my brother, but he was also the litigation partner at Davis Hardy, the firm that had structured my family trust and each company Connor believed he controlled.
Parker read the documents once. “He filed using company counsel.”