At our final wedding planning lunch in Manhattan I made the mistake of telling the waitress my future husband hated olives and could she please take them away, and Ethan turned to me with that cold, polished charm he used on everyone and said in a low, dangerous voice: Don’t ever call me your future husband again—we’re only engaged, don’t make it sound so final.

We raced to the hospital, sirens blaring behind us as the cops arrested Ethan and James.

I didn’t care.

All I could think about was Dad.

Not breathing.

Dead.

No.

Please God, no.

I ran into the ER, my mom right behind me, Javi a step behind. The nurses pulled us into a private waiting room, told us the doctors were working on him, that it was bad, that we should prepare for the worst.

I paced the room for what felt like hours.

My mom sat in a chair, holding a rosary, praying under her breath. She’d never been religious. Not once in my life.

Javi sat next to me, holding my hand, his thumb rubbing circles on my knuckles. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

The door opened.

The doctor walked in, his face grave.

My heart stopped.

“Mr. Voss is stable,” he said.

I collapsed into the chair, sobbing in relief.

“He had a second stroke,” the doctor continued. “Much worse than the first. The bullet wound in Queens—we think the stress of the police radio traffic, the sirens, it pushed him over the edge. He’s in a medically induced coma. We’ll wake him up in 48 hours, but… there’s a chance he won’t be the same. He may have trouble speaking. Trouble moving. He may never run the company again.”

He paused.

“You need to be prepared for anything,” he said.

I nodded.

“Can I see him?” I said.

“Only one at a time,” he said.

I went first.

He looked so small in the bed, tubes coming out of every part of him, a machine breathing for him. I held his hand, kissed his forehead, told him I loved him, told him we’d won, that Ethan was gone, that everything was going to be okay.

I didn’t know if he could hear me.

But I had to say it anyway.

When I walked out, my mom went in.

Javi pulled me into his arms.

I cried into his chest, all the fear and anger and pain of the last week pouring out of me.

“I can’t do this alone,” I whispered. “The board meeting is tomorrow. I have to present the quarterly numbers. They know Dad’s in the hospital. They’re going to try to force me out. They’re going to say I’m too young, too emotional, too unqualified. And I don’t have the evidence to prove Ethan was the one embezzling. The hard drive is gone. All we have is Brooke’s testimony, and she’s a mess. They’ll tear her apart.”

Javi pulled back, looked me in the eye.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” he said. “I’m right here. And so is your mom. And so is Brooke, if she’s smart. And you know what else? You’re Roland Voss’s daughter. You were born to run that company. You’ve been sitting in on board meetings since you were 16. You know every number, every employee, every client better than any of those old men on the board. They don’t stand a chance against you.”

He kissed my forehead.

“And for the record?” he said. “I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You just took down two men who spent six years planning your destruction, armed with nothing but a baseball bat and a bad attitude. You’re going to walk into that boardroom tomorrow, and you’re going to blow them all away.”

I smiled through my tears.

“Bad attitude?” I said.

“The best,” he said, grinning.

The next morning, I got to the office at 6 AM.

The board meeting was at 10.

I spent four hours going over the numbers, prepping my speech, practicing in front of the mirror. I wore my grandmother’s pearl necklace, the one she’d worn to every board meeting when she ran the company after my grandpa died. I wore the black suit she’d been buried in, tailored to fit me.

I was ready.

At 9:45, Brooke showed up at my office.

She looked terrible.

Pale, bags under her eyes, hair in a messy bun, wearing a cheap dress she’d probably bought at Target.

“I came to testify,” she said, before I could say anything. “I’m going to tell the board everything. What Ethan made me do. The gambling debts. The fake invoices. All of it. I don’t care if I go to prison. I don’t care if I lose everything. You’re my best friend, Clara. And I let you down. This is the least I can do.”

I stared at her.

“Okay,” I said.

We walked to the boardroom together.

The room was full.

All 12 board members, sitting around the giant mahogany table. My dad’s empty chair at the head.

Arthur Hale, the oldest member of the board, 82 years old, a man who’d worked with my grandpa, stood up when we walked in.

“Clara,” he said, his voice booming. “Good of you to join us. We were just discussing the future of the company. With your father incapacitated, and your recent… personal drama… we’ve decided it’s in the best interest of the shareholders to appoint an interim CEO. Someone with experience. Someone who can steady the ship during these difficult times.”

He smiled, cold and cruel.

“Me,” he said.

The other board members nodded.

I didn’t flinch.

I walked to the head of the table, set my folder down, and looked each and every one of them in the eye.

“Sit down, Arthur,” I said.

The room went dead silent.

No one spoke to Arthur Hale like that.

“Excuse me?” he said.

“You heard me,” I said. “Sit down. Because I’m not going anywhere. And you’re not taking this company from me.”

I opened my folder.

“Let’s talk about the quarterly numbers,” I said. “Revenue up 12 percent. Profit up 18 percent. We just closed the biggest deal in company history with the Chinese government. All while my father was in the hospital, and I was dealing with a blackmailer and an embezzler. Numbers don’t lie, gentlemen. I’ve been running this company for the last week. And I’ve done a better job than any of you could ever do.”

Arthur laughed.

“Bold words, little girl,” he said. “But where’s the proof of this embezzlement? All we have is your word. And the word of a known gambler.” He nodded at Brooke. “For all we know, you’re the one who stole the money. You’re the one who drove your father into the hospital. You’re the one who’s unfit.”

He reached into his folder, pulled out a stack of papers.

“These are bank records,” he said, sliding them across the table. “Showing four million dollars transferred from Voss Global accounts to accounts controlled by you, Clara. Over the last two years. Looks like embezzlement to me. Looks like you framed Ethan to cover your own tracks. And unless you step down right now, I’m turning these over to the SEC. And to the police.”

I stared at the papers.

They looked real.

Perfect forgeries.

Ethan must have planted them before we arrested him.

A backup plan.

The room erupted.

Board members yelling, pointing, demanding my resignation.

Arthur stood up, smiling.

“Last chance, Clara,” he said.

I looked at Brooke. She was crying, shaking her head.

I looked at the door, hoping Javi would walk in with some last-minute evidence.

He didn’t.