Sloane stepped into the grand opening of the hotel she had built — and found her husband kissing Bianca behind the ceremonial ribbon.

Sloane's lead lawyer was named Carter Voss.

He had represented her for nine years.

She had never seen him look uncertain.

He looked uncertain now.

He leaned close and spoke quietly near her ear.

"The permits.

Is he right?"

"I need five minutes," Sloane said.

"Sloane—"

"Five minutes, Carter."

She walked to the far end of the lobby, past the champagne tables and the ribbon still lying on the floor, and pushed through a side door into the hotel's back corridor.

It was quieter there.

The noise of the lobby came through as a low hum.

She called her project manager.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Marcus.

The Phase Two permits.

What name are they filed under?"

A pause.

She heard him moving, a chair, a keyboard.

"They're under Mercer Capital Development," he said.

"Grant's company.

You told me to use his entity for the municipal filings because your personal holding company wasn't registered in the county yet.

That was fourteen months ago.

We never transferred them."

Sloane closed her eyes for exactly three seconds.

"Can they be transferred now?"

"Not quickly.

Municipal permit transfers take sixty to ninety days minimum.

And the other party has to consent to the transfer."

"And if he doesn't consent?"

Marcus was quiet for a moment.

"Then you'd have to challenge the permit structure in court.

That could take six months.

Maybe more.

And during that time, Phase Two can't break ground."

She thanked him and ended the call.

She stood in the corridor for a moment.

The hum of the lobby pressed through the wall.

Then she pushed the door open and walked back in.

Grant was waiting.

He had moved to the center of the lobby.

He had a glass of champagne now, which struck her as a particular kind of arrogance.

"Well?" he said.

"You're right about the permits," Sloane said.

The room shifted.

A few of the investors looked up.

Grant's smile returned — the real one this time, or what he thought was the real one.

"So here's what happens next.

You keep the hotel.

I keep the permits.

And we negotiate a new agreement that reflects that reality.

Something more equitable." He glanced at Bianca.

"For everyone."

"Or," Sloane said, "you explain to Douglas Hale and the other investors why you falsified a contract, attempted to seize an asset that wasn't yours, and are now holding development permits hostage to extract a settlement." She tilted her head slightly.

"In front of three reporters.

Two of whom are still recording."

Grant's smile held but his eyes moved — just briefly — to the reporters near the ribbon.

"That's not what happened," he said.

"Ruth." Sloane didn't raise her voice.

Ruth Calloway stepped forward from near the elevator bank.

She was holding her phone now, not her notary log.

She turned the screen to face the room.

On it was a photograph — a text message exchange, the kind that fills a screen with blue and grey bubbles.

"Mr.

Mercer sent me this message eleven months ago," Ruth said.

"He offered me forty thousand dollars to destroy the original notarized agreement and testify that the document he was presenting was the correct one." She looked at Grant.

"I kept the messages.

I also kept the wire transfer confirmation for the twenty thousand he sent as a deposit before I declined."

The room didn't go still this time.

It went loud.

Douglas Hale ended his phone call and walked back across the lobby with the kind of deliberate stride that meant lawyers were already being contacted.

Two of the other investors moved with him.

The reporters were no longer near the ribbon.

They were closer now, much closer.

Bianca set her champagne glass down on the nearest table.

Her voice came out flat and careful.

"Grant.

I want to speak with you privately."

"Not now—"

"Now," she said.

"Right now."

Grant looked at Sloane.

Something in his face shifted — not defeat, not yet, but the first real crack in the performance.

The first moment he looked like a man calculating an exit rather than a man who believed he was winning.

"This isn't over," he said.

Sloane picked up the transfer contract from the floor — the one he had dropped at her feet — and handed it to Carter Voss without looking away from Grant.

"It is for tonight," she said.

Grant turned and walked toward the corridor with Bianca two steps behind him, her heels sharp on the marble.

Carter touched Sloane's elbow.

"The permits are still a problem."

"I know," she said.

"But he just committed attempted bribery in front of a room full of witnesses." She watched the corridor door close behind them.

"Let's see how long he holds onto those permits after Monday."

Carter followed her gaze.