“EMMA, TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF MY FIANCÉ!”

Detective Vance slammed on the brakes, the sedan sliding slightly on the wet gravel before coming to a halt ten feet from the blockade. The red and blue lights of our unmarked car reflected off the wet hoods of the security vans.

Before the car had even settled into park, I pushed my door open and stepped out into the freezing Seattle rain. The wind whipped my hair across my face, carrying the distant, roaring sound of Puget Sound crashing against the rocks far below the cliffside estate.

“Luca!” I shouted, running across the slick gravel toward him.

He turned slowly, his face deathly pale, his shoulders hunched against the cold. Without his custom jacket, his white dress shirt clung to his frame, revealing just how much weight he had lost over the past month. He looked less like a corporate titan and more like an old man abandoned to the elements.

“Emma,” he breathed, his teeth chattering.

I reached him in three strides, shrugging off my heavy wool coat and wrapping it tightly around his shoulders. I pressed my fingers against his wrist; his pulse was erratic, fluttering like a trapped bird.

“What happened?” I demanded, turning my glare toward the two armed guards standing behind the iron security gate. They were wearing standard Moretti Logistics tactical uniforms, but their faces were expressionless strangers—men I had never seen on the estate rotation before tonight.

“Julian,” Luca managed to say, his voice thick with exhaustion and fury. “While the police were dealing with Vanessa at the precinct, Julian invoked an emergency clause in the holding trust. He produced a board resolution claiming I’m medically incapacitated. They cleared the house, changed the master access codes, and threw me out.”

“They can’t do that without a court order signed by a judge,” I said, my voice rising over the roar of the wind.

“They don’t need one,” a smooth, unbothered voice called out from behind the gate.

We both turned. Walking down the paved drive from the main house, holding a black umbrella that kept the rain off his immaculate charcoal suit, was Julian Vance. He stopped three feet behind the wrought-iron bars, looking down at Luca with an expression of mild, bureaucratic pity.

“Good evening, Luca,” Julian said, his tone dripping with patronizing calm. “I’m sorry it had to come to this. But as your brother-in-law and the lead legal counsel for the Moretti Trust, my fiduciary duty is to the company, not to your current state of... emotional instability.”

“Open this gate, Julian,” Luca growled, stepping forward, his voice regaining a fraction of its old, commanding steel. “That is my house. Those are my books. I am revoking your power of attorney effective immediately.”

Julian sighed, shaking his head slowly as if dealing with an unruly child.

“You can’t revoke anything, Luca. Not until the independent medical evaluation is completed next Tuesday. Until then, under Section 9 of the corporate charter, I am acting CEO and trustee. Security has orders not to let unauthorized personnel onto the property—and that includes you.”

Julian’s eyes shifted past Luca, landing squarely on me with a cold, glittering menace.

“And especially includes former employees whose contracts were terminated twenty minutes ago via email.”

Detective Vance stepped up beside me, flashing his badge under the security light.

“Julian Vance? I’m Detective Marcus Vance with Seattle PD. Obstruction of a property owner, forced eviction without due process, and conspiracy to commit aggravated assault using controlled substances. Open this gate right now, or I’ll have a warrant for your arrest signed by a midnight judge before you can finish your next sentence.”

Julian didn't flinch. He didn't even look at the badge. He simply offered a thin, razor-sharp smile.

“Detective, is it? I’m sure you’ll find all our paperwork entirely in order by morning. Until then, you’re standing on private property. Have a pleasant drive back to the precinct.”

With a flick of his wrist, Julian turned his back on us and began walking slowly back up the paved driveway toward the illuminated warmth of the mansion.

I looked at Luca, then down at my hands, which were still gripping my medical journal like a shield. The legal system was slow, bureaucratic, and easily manipulated by men with deep pockets and forged paperwork. If we waited until Tuesday for a court hearing, Luca’s health—and his entire empire—would be completely dismantled.

“We’re not going to the precinct,” I said, turning to Detective Vance.