I crept up the stairs of a lake house to find my wife in another man's arms—laughing about how easily she had drugged my drink.

Claire Sterling stepped forward and handed the dossier directly to the chairman of the Mecklenburg County Commission, who stood at the head table.

“Copies of the forensic bank trails, the unauthorized data leaks, and the formal criminal complaints have already been submitted to the District Attorney,” Claire stated clearly into the microphone. “Furthermore, all assets tied to Vantage Crest have been frozen under emergency court order.”

The room erupted into furious murmurs. Several prominent investors immediately turned their backs on Grant, whispering urgently into their phones to pull their capital.

Grant grabbed my lapel, his face contorted in frantic fury. “What the hell did you do, Mercer? Are you insane?!”

Two private security guards intercepted him instantly, pulling his hands away.

Natalie spun toward me, her eyes wide with terror, her chest heaving against her emerald dress.

“Ethan... Ethan, what is this?” she stammered, tears suddenly spilling down her mascara. “What are you doing? This is a mistake! We can explain this!”

I looked down at her. For the first time in six years, I felt absolutely nothing. No anger. No sorrow. Only clean, unshakeable peace.

“Hurry,” I whispered softly, leaning down to her ear. “He’s asleep.”

Natalie staggered backward as if I had struck her across the face. All the color drained from her skin. Her hand flew to her mouth. She realized, in one blinding flash of horror, that I had known from the very first second on the lake house staircase.

“You’re served, Natalie,” I said, pulling an envelope from my inner jacket pocket and dropping it neatly onto the cocktail table between us.