CHAPTER 11

ANNA POV

“Your debt-to-equity ratio on the Singapore acquisition is projected at four point two percent,” Peter says, his voice flat, razor-sharp, and totally commanding the quiet boardroom.

I sit at the long wooden auxiliary table in the corner—the designated seats for family members who don't hold voting rights. Across the room, floor-to-ceiling windows look straight out over the gray skyline of Manhattan. I keep my eyes on Peter. He stands beside the digital projection screen in a charcoal three-piece suit, stepping through the financial metrics with cold, flawless precision. He looks untouchable. He looks like a man who doesn't feel pain, doesn't hesitate, and never makes a mistake.

“The board won't approve a leverage ratio above four percent without additional collateral,” a senior director says, shuffling his papers.

“The collateral is secured through the tertiary holding account,” Peter replies without blinking. “We clear four point two, or we don't buy.”

Before the director can answer, the heavy double doors at the back of the boardroom swing open.

Victor Kane steps inside without an invitation, two security guards halting right outside the doorway behind him. He button-downs his dark suit jacket and walks slowly down the center aisle, taking the empty leather chair situated directly opposite my small seat. He sits back, folding his long fingers together, and smiles at me like a freshly sharpened knife.

“You must be the daughter,” Victor says, his voice low, smooth, and carrying across the quiet room. “Anna, isn't it? You have your mother’s eyes—rest her soul.”

My entire body goes icy cold. My hands lock around the edge of my tablet, my chest seizing up at the casual mention of my dead mother. It feels like an open slap across the face in front of twenty corporate board members.

Peter stops speaking mid-sentence.

The laser pointer in his grip clicks off instantly. The complete silence in the room drops like a heavy weight as Peter turns his body away from the presentation screen.

“Mr. Kane,” Peter says, his tone dropping a full octave into something dark and lethal. “You’re not on today’s docket.”

Peter walks away from the podium, moving across the carpet with long, deliberate strides until his tall frame stands directly between Victor Kane and my chair, using his body as a physical barrier to block Victor's sightline to me.

Victor leans back in his leather chair, his dark eyes sharpening as he tracks Peter’s sudden movement.

“Interesting,” Victor hums, pulling a silver pen from his breast pocket. “The step-siblings present a united front in the boardroom. Richard must be very proud of you two. Or terrified.”

Victor writes a quick line on a small leather notepad, tearing the top card off with a crisp paper snap. He reaches around Peter's arm, sliding the thick black card smoothly across the polished wood table until it stops right in front of my hands.

“Call me if you ever want to know who really killed your mother’s company,” Victor whispers, his dark eyes holding mine over Peter’s shoulder.

My fingers tremble violently as I reach out and press my thumb over the edge of the card, pulling it toward my chest. Beside me, I hear the sudden, harsh intake of Peter’s breath. His jaw turns to solid granite, his knuckles turning white where his hands rest against the edge of the table.

“This meeting is adjourned,” Peter commands, his voice ringing out over the murmuring board members before anyone else can speak.

The directors immediately pack up their leather folders, scuttling out the rear doors in a flurry of hushed whispers. Victor Kane stands up slowly, giving me one last deliberate nod before strolling out behind the rest of the board.

The room clears out in under thirty seconds, leaving only the two of us standing in front of the giant glass windows.

I turn toward the private executive elevator bank, sliding the black card into my hoodie pocket. I hit the down button, the brass doors opening immediately with a soft bell chime. I step inside, but before the doors can slide shut, Peter steps inside behind me, pressing the emergency stop button with a heavy slam of his palm.

The cab jolts to a complete halt between floors, locking us in total isolation.

“Give me the card,” Peter demands, stepping directly into my space, his chest hovering an inch from mine.

“No,” I say, holding my head up and staring straight into his cold grey eyes. “I’m keeping it.”

“It’s not a game, Anna,” Peter growls, his voice dropping low and dangerous. “Give it to me.”

“It’s leverage!” I yell back, my breath hitching as my heart slams hard against my ribs. “He knows what happened to my mother’s firm! He has answers that your father and Mary have been hiding from me for five years!”

Peter raises his arm and slams his bare hand flat against the steel elevator wall right beside my head. The metallic boom echoes wildly through the shaft, making me flinch as the metal vibrates against my ear.

It’s the first time he’s ever lost control. The first display of pure physical aggression he’s ever shown me.

“He’s not leverage,” Peter snarls down at me, his face inches from mine, his hot breath brushing my skin. “He’s a predator. He will use you, strip you of your shares, and throw whatever is left of your family to the street.”

“So are you!” I scream right back into his face, my voice shaking with raw rage. “You’re a predator too, Peter! At least Victor Kane is honest about what he wants from me!”

Peter freezes, his eyes widening slightly as my words hit him like a physical blow.

I reach past his waist and hit the door release button. The elevator mechanism clicks, the brass doors sliding open to reveal the main lobby floor.

“Get out of my way,” I say coldly.

I step past his shoulder, my arm brushing hard against his jacket as I walk out into the lobby without looking back. Peter doesn't follow me. He stays standing alone inside the stopped elevator car, his chest heaving, breathing hard as he stares blankly at his own reflection in the polished metal doors.

I walk fast through the main exit doors, pulling the thick black card out of my pocket as I reach the street corner.

I flip it over in my hand, looking for a phone number. There isn't one.

There is no phone number, no email, and no corporate branding on the paper. Printed in gold ink across the center is a single physical address: The Kane Tower, Penthouse.

Below the address, written in thick, messy black ink, is a handwritten note:

Bring the boy. He’s more valuable than he knows.