Sign the papers, sweetheart, or you walk out of here with nothing but the

I opened the manila folder I’d brought with me. Robert’s smirk flickered. ‘What is that?’ I slid the first document across the table. ‘That’s the original prenup your father insisted on. The one you signed at twenty-four, before you inherited his shares.’ I slid the second. ‘That’s the amendment your father added in 2019, which states that any infidelity on your part forfeits your claim to the marital trust and transfers controlling interest to me. You never read it, did you? You just signed where the sticky tabs were.’ Robert’s face went the color of old paper. Tiffany shifted in her seat. I kept going. ‘These are hotel receipts. Cabo, March. Aspen, December. The Plaza, every Thursday for eleven months. All charged to the company card your father personally audits.’ The lawyer started flipping through pages, his polished smile collapsing. ‘And this,’ I said, sliding the last document, ‘is the email I sent your father this morning. He’s waiting in the lobby.’ Robert stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor. ‘Eliza, wait —’ ‘I went back to school two years ago, Robert. Online. Nights. After you were asleep. I passed the bar in November.’ I closed the folder. ‘I represent myself now. And as of this morning, per the trust’s transfer clause, I represent the majority of your father’s firm. Your office is being cleared as we speak.’ Tiffany grabbed her purse and didn’t look back. The lawyer cleared his throat and quietly excused himself. Robert sank into his chair, suddenly small, suddenly gray. ‘You planned this.’ ‘No,’ I said, standing and smoothing my blazer. ‘You did. I just paid attention.’ I walked out into the hallway where his father was waiting, and for the first time in fifteen years, someone held the door open for me instead of the other way around.