once, Ms. Vale,” my general counsel replied.
I slipped the phone away and looked back at Graham. “Are you sure this is how you want to play this, Graham?”
Chloe laughed, a sharp, grating sound. “Still pretending you have a spine, Evie? It’s pathetic.”
A caravan of four matte-black SUVs turned off the main road, their tires crunching heavily over the gravel driveway. They moved with predatory precision, bypassing the Harrington security gate—which had just been electronically overridden by my team—and came to a halt in a half-circle around the driveway.
Graham frowned, squinting through the falling snow. “Who the hell is that? If those are paparazzi, I swear—”
The doors opened simultaneously. A dozen men and women in dark overcoats stepped out. Not police. Auditors. Private security. Corporate litigators. Leading them was Marcus Reed, my chief legal officer, a man whose silver hair and sharp jawline screamed lethal efficiency.
Marcus didn’t look at Graham. He walked straight to me, removing his thick cashmere scarf and draping it over my shoulders, shielding the twins.
“Ms. Vale,” Marcus said, his voice carrying over the wind. “The board has convened. Graham Harrington’s executive access has been universally revoked. His corporate cards were disabled four minutes ago.”
“What is this?” Graham demanded, stumbling down a step. “Marcus? What the hell are you doing here? You work for Harrington Luxe!”
“I work for the parent company, Mr. Harrington,” Marcus replied coldly. “I work for Ms. Vale.”
Graham froze. Chloe’s smug smile vanished. Vivian clutched her diamond necklace, her eyes darting between Marcus and me.
“That’s impossible,” Vivian hissed. “She’s a seamstress!”
“I designed the acquisition strategy that bought your family’s crumbling empire a year ago, Vivian,” I said, my voice finally ringing with the authority I had buried for twelve months. “I bought this
