I saw my husband’s hand on another woman before I saw his face.

The brass box sat open between us on the scarred wooden table. Caleb reached inside, his scarred fingers bypassing the deeds and pulling up a false velvet floor that Julian and I hadn't noticed.

Beneath it lay a slim, brass-bound logbook containing handwritten banking routing numbers, account aliases, and dates spanning three decades. Tucked into the inner spine was an encrypted military-grade USB drive stamped with the seal of the Swiss Federal Banking Commission.

"Arthur’s masterstroke," Caleb said softly. "Every politician, every shipping magnate, every judge Vivienne Beaufort and Richard Harrington bribed across three continents is cataloged here. This isn't just money, Emily. It's leverage that could bring down five cabinet ministers in Paris and freeze every maritime asset Beaufort owns."

"Who is Vivienne Beaufort?" I asked, my voice steady despite the pounding in my ears. "Richard never mentioned her name. Not once in our seven years of marriage."

"Of course he didn't," Caleb muttered, pulling a battered laptop from a crate under the bench. "Vivienne Beaufort is the widow of Henri Beaufort, the shipping tycoon who controlled the Marseille container terminals until his mysterious death ten years ago. She is Richard's European counterpart—and according to the records Arthur unearthed, she was your father’s half-sister."

I felt the air leave my lungs. "My... my aunt?"

"Born out of wedlock in Monaco," Caleb said, turning the screen to face us. A photograph appeared on the display: a woman in her late fifties with sharp, predatory cheekbones, silver-streaked dark hair cut into an impeccable bob, and ice-blue eyes that looked unnervingly like my father's. "Your grandfather refused to recognize her in his will. He left the entire trading company and the land holdings to Arthur. Vivienne spent forty years orchestrating the destruction of the Vance family through proxies. Richard Harrington was just her most ambitious weapon."

"So the marriage," Julian said, his jaw tightening dangerously. "Richard pursuing Emily... that wasn't random."

"It was an infiltration," Caleb said coldly. "Vivienne bankrolled Richard's early hedge fund on the condition that he marry Emily Vance, gain power of attorney over the Vance trust, and strip Arthur of his remaining ports. But Arthur figured it out too late. He could only save the Marseille drydock and build a shield around Emily."

Suddenly, the red warning light on the security router beside Caleb’s laptop began to flash violently. A soft, repetitive pinging sound echoed off the corrugated metal walls of the hangar.

Caleb slammed the laptop shut. "Perimeter sensors on the seawall. Two high-speed Zodiacs just entered the basin without running lights."

Julian immediately reached for a heavy steel pry-bar leaning against the workbench, his knuckles whitening. "How many?"

"Four men per boat," Caleb said, pulling a Glock 19 from a holster beneath his canvas apron and racking the slide with practiced ease. "They aren't port authorities. Vivienne doesn't use lawyers when she knows the target is isolated."

"We can't fight eight armed mercenaries in an open shed," I said, my instincts taking over. The fear was there, but beneath it was the cold, calculating fury that had carried me through the boardroom wars in Boston. "Caleb, where does the drydock floodgate lead?"

"Out into the commercial basin. Why?"

"Our ketch is docked at Quai de Rive Neuve. If they cut us off on foot, we’re cornered," I said, looking between Julian and Caleb. "Is that schooner seaworthy?"

Caleb looked at the gleaming wooden vessel sitting on the blocks. "Hull is tight. Engines installed. But she’s sitting dry on the cradle."