The top floor was empty. Kason was still downstairs doing damage control.

Allison used her master keycard to unlock the heavy double doors of the CEO's suite.

She walked straight to Kason's massive mahogany desk. She set down a thick stack of financial audit reports she had prepared weeks ago.

Her fingers moved with practiced, surgical precision. She knew it was a reckless move. A tactical error that could invite felony fraud charges if his legal team caught it. But as she stared at his empty chair, a wave of profound, suffocating disgust washed over her. For the first time in her life, she allowed emotion to override protocol. She wanted a shortcut. She just wanted to be free of this parasite immediately, consequences be damned.

She slipped the immediate-effect divorce settlement-the one that stripped her of nothing but demanded his signature-into the second-to-last page of the audit stack.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Allison took a half-step back, folding her hands in front of her, her face a mask of boredom.

Kason burst through the doors, his face flushed with anger.

"What the hell are you still doing in my building?" he snarled, marching toward the desk.

"I'm leaving the final audit reports," Allison said, her voice flat. "Sign the transfer of responsibility, and I'm gone."

Kason sneered. He just wanted her out of his sight. He grabbed his Montblanc pen from the holder.

He didn't read a single word. He flipped aggressively to the back of the thick stack, right to where the signature line of the divorce paper waited.

Allison held her breath. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

The gold nib of the pen hovered a millimeter above the paper.

Suddenly, the office doors flew open.

"Kason!"

Haylee ran into the room, tears streaming down her perfectly made-up face. She was trembling, clutching her designer purse. "Buster is at the vet... they say he might need surgery!"

Kason dropped the pen instantly.

He rushed around the desk, pulling Haylee into his chest. "Shh, baby, I've got you. It's okay."

Allison cursed silently. Her jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached.

Haylee buried her face in Kason's chest, then peeked out, her eyes locking onto Allison.

"Oh," Haylee whispered, her voice dripping with fake innocence. "Am I interrupting business?"

"No," Kason said coldly, glaring at Allison. "She was just dropping off garbage. Let's go to the clinic."

Before Kason could move, Griffin Castro strolled into the office.

Griffin's sharp eyes swept the room. They landed immediately on the desk. He noticed the slight difference in paper weight and the margin alignment of the document Kason had been about to sign.

Griffin walked casually toward the desk. "Kason, before you leave, I need to review these audit liabilities."

Griffin's broad shoulders completely blocked Kason and Haylee's view of the desk.

With a flick of his long fingers, Griffin slid the divorce settlement out from the stack. He folded it smoothly and slipped it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

He turned around, offering Allison a faint, mocking smirk.

Allison felt a cold sweat break out on her back. She exhaled slowly.

"We'll review it later, Griffin," Kason said, holding Haylee tightly. "I have a family emergency."

Kason guided Haylee out of the office, not giving the documents another glance.

The heavy doors clicked shut.

Griffin reached into his jacket, pulled out the crumpled divorce paper, and waved it in the air.

"Sloppy," Griffin said, his voice a low rumble. "If his lawyers caught this, you'd be facing felony fraud charges."

Allison rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I wanted a shortcut. I'm sick of looking at his face."

Griffin walked over to her. He towered over her, his presence suffocatingly dominant.

"From now on," Griffin said, his eyes locking onto hers, "you let me handle the legal slaughter. Understood?"

The air inside the private Manhattan cigar club was thick with the scent of aged tobacco and expensive leather.

Allison followed the waiter down a dimly lit hallway and pushed open the door to a soundproof VIP room.

Griffin sat on a Chesterfield sofa, a glass of amber bourbon in his hand. Files were scattered across the low glass table.

Allison sat opposite him. Griffin pushed a perfectly mixed martini toward her.

He picked up the failed divorce document from his pocket, struck a match, and set the corner on fire. He dropped it into the crystal ashtray, watching it burn to ash.

"If you want thirty percent," Griffin said, his voice strictly business, "we need to prove gross marital misconduct. New York is a no-fault state, but egregious dissipation of marital assets changes the game."

"Kason bought Haylee a condo in Tribeca last month," Allison said smoothly. "Paid in cash from a subsidiary account."

Griffin's eyes gleamed. "Get me the wire traces. I need hard proof."

"Give me three days," Allison replied.

They clinked their glasses together. The sharp chime of crystal marked the official beginning of the war.

Suddenly, Allison's burner phone buzzed on the table.

The screen read: Kason.

Allison frowned and reached to decline it, but Griffin caught her wrist. His fingers were warm and firm. He shook his head, gesturing for her to answer.

Allison hit speakerphone.

"Listen to me carefully," Kason's arrogant voice filled the quiet room. "My grandfather's eightieth birthday banquet is this Saturday at The Plaza."

Allison remained silent.

"You will be there," Kason ordered. "The board is getting nervous about the rumors. We need to present a united front. If you embarrass me, or if you don't show up, I will make sure you leave this marriage with absolutely nothing."

Allison looked at Griffin. Griffin rolled his eyes in silent mockery.

Allison thought of Arthur Lindsay. The old man was the only person in that toxic family who had ever treated her with an ounce of respect.

"I'll be there," Allison said flatly, and hung up.

"Why go?" Griffin asked, taking a sip of bourbon. "It's a trap."

"Because," Allison said, staring at the dark liquid in her glass, "I have a gift to deliver."

Later that night, back in her penthouse, Allison opened a heavy steel floor safe.

She reached past stacks of cash and passports, pulling out a faded, worn velvet jewelry box.

She popped the latch.

Inside sat a dull, heavily oxidized copper St. Christopher amulet. The edges were battered, the metal scarred.

Allison gently traced the engraving with her thumb.

Her father had carried this in the Middle East. It wasn't just a trinket; it was a legendary artifact, recovered from a warlord's vault. It was the only physical thing she had left of them.

She closed the box. Her eyes hardened. She was ready for Saturday.