Finnegan

The conference room felt suffocating.

I sat at the head of the long table, my lawyer on my right, Victoria and her lawyer on the opposite side. The divorce settlement papers lay between us like a loaded gun.

I had hoped this meeting would finally end this farce, but I should have known better.

Atticus was representing Victoria.

Fucking Atticus. I had trusted this asshole, and he turned on me and was working with my mother and Victoria instead? A damned shame.

My dignity wouldn’t let me exchange words with an asshole like him, so I simply held my head up and thought about the one person who made me feel sane in all this madness.

Victoria sat beside Atticus, a smug look on her face, while Atticus yapped.

"This clause regarding the properties is unacceptable," he said smoothly. "My client contributed significantly to the acquisition and maintenance of those assets during the marriage."

My lawyer leaned forward. "Your client contributed nothing. Those properties were acquired through Wolfe Corporation funds long before the marriage."

Victoria pouted dramatically. "Finnegan, darling, must we be so... adversarial? We built a life together. Surely, we can be civil about this?"

I didn’t respond. I simply stared at her, letting the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat, her smug smile faltering slightly.

The meeting dragged on for another forty minutes of pointless back-and-forth. Victoria’s side kept raising frivolous objections, asking for more time, more reviews, more consideration.

It was all theatre — they obviously had no intention of signing today and were stalling.

Stalling for what exactly?

Victoria had mentioned something about my birthday. What did my mother have planned for my birthday? Or was it after?

When the meeting finally ended without progress, I rose abruptly.

"We’re done here," I clipped coldly. "Next time, come prepared to actually sign, or don’t waste my time."

Victoria smiled as she gathered her things. "Of course, darling. I’ll see you soon."

I ignored her and strode out without another word, my lawyer trailing behind me.

James was waiting with the car. I slid into the backseat, my lawyer joining me.

As the car pulled away, my lawyer started reviewing notes. "They’re clearly delaying. We can push for-"

My phone rang with a call from the state hospital.

"Mr. Wolfe," the doctor’s urgent voice reached my ears. "Richard Saxon is awake. He’s asking for you specifically."

I sat up straighter. "I’m on my way. Keep him stable."

I ended the call and told James, "Change of plans. Please drive to the hospital."

The drive felt endless. My mind raced with possibilities. Richard had accused me of trying to kill him.

If he were awake, maybe he could tell me who was really behind it and why on God’s green earth he thought I was responsible.

When we arrived, I strode through the hospital corridors down to the private room where Richard was. Policemen lined the entrance, heavily guarding the place.

Richard looked pale and weak, but his eyes burned with accusation when they landed on me.

"You bastard," he wheezed, his voice raspy from the tube that had been in his throat. "You tried to kill me."

I sank into the chair next to him, sighing. "Why do you think it was me, Richard? Tell me exactly what happened."

He stared at me like I was crazy. "You signed the money laundering deal in Manhattan right before me."

"You and your mother thought you could get rid of me to hide it and not pay my share? After everything I did for you people?"

I frowned, completely confused. "What deal? What are you talking about?"

Richard coughed, grimacing in pain. "The auction house deal. You don’t remember? We met at that old auction house on the east side."

" You and your mother were there. You signed the papers selling Lander Logistics and the whole industrial area to that bank. You said it was the perfect cover-up, and now you’re trying to silence me so I don’t talk about my cut?"

None of it made sense. Wasn’t Lander Logistics the company Abigail’s parents worked for? Why would I be involved in selling it?

"Which auction house exactly? Tell me the address."

Richard sighed, shaking his head. "Are you crazy, or have you forgotten? You really don’t remember, or are you trying to deceive me?"

I held his gaze. "It wasn’t me. Tell me the address."

He gave it to me reluctantly. I stood up immediately, nodding to my lawyer.

"We’re going there."

"Right now?"

"Do you have somewhere else to be?"

He cleared his throat, awkwardly shaking his head. Of course he would, I was his highest paying client.

"Then right now... please."

If I wasted any more time, Mother would find out Saxon was awake and had talked to me, then she would try to cover up her tracks.

I had to sniff them out while they were fresh.

Some forty minutes later, we arrived at the auction house in the seedy part of Manhattan. When we pulled up, two men stood outside the door, and for some bloody reason, they recognized me.

"Boss," one of them said, bowing slightly.

"Didn’t expect to see you here so soon."

My brows furrowed, but I played along, keeping my face stone cold. "The footage from the Manhattan deal. Show it to me."

They glanced at each other nervously. "Ha, come on, boss. We wiped it as you said."

I arched a brow, holding their eyes with a look that made them squirm.

They sighed and led us to a back room with several computers. One of them muttered, "Damn, did the boss get a bit larger since last time?"

"Maybe he’s hitting the steroids."

They really thought I was here for some deal. Me?

Wait... it couldn’t be.

They pulled up the footage on the computer and the video started playing. My lawyer gasped when he saw the man on screen. "Uhhh, Mr. Wolfe?"

I knew that face anywhere, even in my nightmares. Shock rushed through my veins, and I lunged for the computer, seizing it in disbelief.

It was Devin. Devin was alive!