Rosalind rose, her dark wool skirt brushing the edge of the table.

“Arthur, this meeting is about fourth-quarter dividend allocations.

I demand that you clear the room.”

“Sit down, Rosalind,” Arthur said, never raising his voice.

Brielle sat three seats down from Spencer in a tailored navy maternity suit.

She rested both hands low on her stomach, her chest rising and falling in short, quick breaths.

“Brielle,” Arthur said, turning his head toward her.

“The draft trust amendment lists you as carrying the only legal heirs to the Aldridge family voting blocks.”