Seven months after our divorce, I rushed into St. Jude’s Children’s and Women’s Hospital, still angry at my ex-wife, only to learn that she had just given birth to twin boys, and both of them were mine. Before the night was over, a nurse would place a brass key in my hand and tell me to use it before my own family arrived. And what was waiting for me beyond that was even more shocking.

“You have less than six hours left before the morning board meeting begins,” Florence pointed out quietly.

I nodded in understanding.

“I’ll go over to Laurel Street, find the quiet room, secure whatever files are left, and come straight back,” I laid out.

Sylvia reached her hand out toward me.

Her fingers felt cool and noticeably weak, but her touch held my complete attention.

“Alexander,” she said softly.

I looked down into her deep eyes.

“Whatever evidence you find tonight, promise me you won’t sign any corporate documents tomorrow morning,” she urged strongly.