“I trust you signed the primary documents before this melodramatic interruption, Preston.”

Preston froze. He looked down at the fountain pen resting beside his fresh signature on the final, notarized page.

“What is this?” I asked, the dread in my stomach turning to ice. “What did he just sign?”

Conrad finally deigned to look at me, a cruel, pitying smile stretching his lined face. “A necessary corporate restructuring, Miss Waverly.

A permanent transfer of power.

My son — having proven himself emotionally volatile, distracted by his disastrous personal life, and lacking a legitimate, healthy heir to secure the company’s future — has just signed sixty percent of his voting shares back into my private trust.”