A man named Russell, whom Adrian had introduced as head of acquisitions, lowered his wineglass with painful care.
Evelyn’s smile remained in place for one second too long.
Then it hardened.
“Don’t be absurd.”
“I’m not.”
“You have no authority to terminate anything.”
I stood.
The chair legs scraped across the marble floor.
Adrian’s expression had changed. He was no longer amused. His eyes moved rapidly over my face, searching for the version of me he believed he understood.
“Clara,” he said, warning woven beneath my name.
I took my phone from my handbag.
On the screen were three unread messages from my chief legal officer.
The last one said simply:
READY WHEN YOU ARE.
I typed two words.
Proceed immediately.
Malcolm’s phone buzzed first.
Then Russell’s.
Then Adrian’s.
Within seconds, the table came alive with vibrations—phones against polished wood, watches pulsing against wrists, alerts arriving in synchronized waves.
Malcolm read his screen.
The color drained from his face.
“No,” he whispered.
Evelyn turned sharply. “What is it?”
He did not answer.
Adrian snatched up his phone.
I watched his eyes move across the message.
NOTICE OF TERMINATION.
SUSPENSION OF CAPITAL FACILITIES.
REVOCATION OF PREFERRED VENDOR STATUS.
EMERGENCY REVIEW OF OUTSTANDING OBLIGATIONS.
He looked up at me.
“You work for Northbridge?”
The question was almost laughable.
Northbridge Global Holdings was not one company. It was a network of investment, logistics, engineering, renewable energy, and infrastructure firms operating across four continents. Harrow Infrastructure had spent the past seven years becoming dependent on us—first through equipment leases, then financing, then government projects, then procurement.
They thought Northbridge was a collection of separate clients and lenders.
They had never bothered to trace the ownership structure all the way to the top.
“No,” I said. “Northbridge works for me.”
Evelyn pushed back from the table.
“That’s impossible.”
