Sign the transfer documents so we can conclude this and have her arrested for trespassing.”

I turned to the lawyer. Marcus Vance.

The man who’d pretended to be my confidant, who’d brought me tea when my marriage first cracked, who’d smiled and promised to mediate our “misunderstandings.”

“Is it a scheme, Marcus?” I asked softly, reaching into the deep pocket of my coat.

“Or is it a scheme like the luxury townhouse you supposedly rented for me under the company’s subsidiary name?”

Preston’s head whipped toward his lawyer, his eyes narrowing. “What townhouse?”