They Thought I Had Nothing to Fight With. Then the Maid Wasn’t the Only One Who Walked In With an Envelope
Ivan stopped as if he’d walked into glass.
He knew the face.
Everyone at his level knew the face — Andrew Ashworth, for twenty years the senior legal counsel and vice chairman of Ashworth Global, a man whose signature had moved more freight than most governments.
“I need to speak with my wife,” Ivan said.
“Privately.”
“No,” I said.
“This is a private marital matter, Meredith.”
Uncle Andrew set his coffee cup down against the saucer with a small, deliberate click.