I walked into my boyfriend’s family barbecue twenty-seven weeks pregnant

Two weeks after Helene’s arrest, the battlefield shifted from the sterile halls of justice to the gleaming glass towers of Manhattan’s Financial District.

Tyler was now legally recognized as the majority shareholder of Vanderberg Maritime & Logistics, but the old guard of the corporate board had no intention of handing over the keys to a thirty-year-old American engineer without a fight.

We stood on the sixty-fourth floor of the Vanderberg Tower, overlooking the fog-shrouded skyline of New York Harbor. Tyler wore a tailored navy suit, looking every bit the formidable leader he had been forced to become. I sat at the executive conference table with Marcus Vance, holding Maeve in a soft carrier against my chest. She was four months old now, smiling at the bright lights, blissfully unaware of the corporate war unfolding around her.

At the head of the mahogany table sat Richard Sterling, the interim board chairman and Helene’s longtime co-conspirator. Flanking him were six senior directors, all staring at Tyler with barely concealed contempt.

"Mr. Mercer," Sterling began, his voice dripping with condescension. "While we acknowledge the district court's ruling regarding your biological status, the corporate charter requires a ninety-day ratification period before any voting shares can be transferred. During that time, the board has voted to execute a defensive liquidation of thirty-five percent of our American shipping terminals."

"In other words," Marcus spoke up, "you are attempting to strip the company's assets and transfer the liquid cash to an offshore account in the Cayman Islands before Tyler can formally take the helm."

"We are protecting the shareholders from inexperienced leadership," Sterling replied coldly. "A man who grew up in suburban Illinois cannot possibly manage a transoceanic logistics fleet."

Tyler didn't raise his voice. He walked slowly to the head of the table, placing both hands flat against the polished wood, leaning down until he was eye-to-eye with the chairman.

"When I was twenty-two, I designed the structural load algorithms currently used by six of your largest container ships," Tyler said, his tone razor-sharp and completely devoid of doubt. "I built my own software company from scratch in a garage while my mother stole my savings. I know every freight route, every union contract, and every balance sheet your board has doctored over the last decade."

Sterling scoffed. "You have no leverage here, Mercer. The board vote is scheduled for noon. We have the quorum."

"You don't have a quorum," Tyler said, sliding a thick manila folder across the table.

Sterling looked down at the documents, his smirk slowly vanishing.

"Those are the personal banking audits provided by the United States Attorney’s office this morning," Tyler continued, his voice echoing off the floor-to-ceiling glass. "Helene didn't act alone when she financed Denise’s fraudulent credit facility. Three members of this board received seven-figure kickbacks routed through shell companies in Panama. Including you, Sterling."

The room went dead silent. The other board members looked at each other, panic rippling through their ranks like wildfire.

"The FBI’s financial crimes division is currently waiting in the lobby downstairs," Tyler said, checking his watch. "You have exactly sixty seconds to tender your immediate resignations, forfeit your severance packages, and sign over the emergency board management to me. If you refuse, the elevators will open, and you will leave this building in handcuffs, just like Helene."

Sterling swallowed hard, his face turning an ashen gray. He looked at the other directors, but nobody met his eyes. They were cowards who had thrived in the dark, and Tyler had just flooded the room with blinding daylight.

One by one, the board members pushed their resignations forward.

Sterling’s hand trembled as he picked up his fountain pen, scribbling his signature across the document before pushing it across the table to Tyler.

"The company is yours, Mercer," Sterling whispered bitterly. "May God help you when the Zurich board finds out."