Chapter 2
“Dominic,” I said, my voice steady as a blade. “I’m at the Meridian Grand. Brandon is upstairs. With his fiancée. And his son.”
The line went dead silent for three heartbeats.
When Dominic spoke again, his voice had dropped half an octave—the tone that had made grown men on Wall Street weep into their tailored suits.
“Stay exactly where you are. Don’t move. Don’t speak to anyone else. Keep Sophie close.”
The call ended.
Tessa was still watching me, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Well? Did your mommy say to come home for hot cocoa?”
The socialites within earshot tittered.
I didn’t answer. I just stood there, holding Sophie’s hand, waiting.
Exactly four minutes later, the heavy glass doors of the Meridian Grand blew open.
Dominic Whitmore walked in.
He was dressed in a charcoal overcoat that cost more than Brandon’s entire wardrobe, his dark hair perfectly styled, his face the picture of bored elegance. But his eyes—those ice-blue Whitmore eyes—were scanning the room like a predator locking onto prey.
The entire lobby went quiet.
Tessa’s smirk faltered. She recognized him. Everyone in this building recognized him.
Dominic didn’t look at her. He walked straight to me, his long strides eating up the marble floor, and knelt in front of Sophie.
“Hey, bug,” he said, his voice softening completely. He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. “Brought you those sour gummy worms you like. The blue ones.”
Sophie’s tear-streaked face lit up. “Uncle Dom!”
She threw her arms around his neck. Dominic stood, lifting her effortlessly with one arm, then turned his gaze to me.
“You okay, Allie?”
I nodded. My throat was too tight to speak.
That was when Tessa found her voice again, though it shook slightly. “Excuse me, sir. This is a private event. I’m going to have to ask you to—”
Dominic cut her off without looking at her. He pulled out his phone and pressed one button.
“Nate? It’s Dom. Pull the plug on Cole Industries. Every line of credit. Every outstanding loan. Every guarantee. Effective immediately.”
He paused, listening.
“Yep. All of it. And call the exchange—have them halt trading on Cole International the second the market opens tomorrow. I don’t care what technical reason you have to invent. Do it.”
He hung up and pressed another button.
“Graham? It’s Dom. Yeah, it’s happening. I need you to call the SEC. Tell them to open a full fraud investigation on Brandon Cole. Everything. Offshore accounts, shell companies, the works. Use whatever weight you have to make it priority one.”
Another pause.
“Thanks. I owe you one. And Graham? Tell the committee to freeze any federal contracts Cole has pending. All of them.”
Tessa had gone pale as a sheet. The watching socialites were whispering frantically into their phones.
“Who—who do you think you are?” Tessa stammered. “You can’t just—”
That was when Brandon appeared at the top of the grand staircase.
He was in his custom tuxedo, his arm draped around a stunning blonde woman in a diamond-encrusted gown. A well-dressed boy of about eight stood at their side, holding Brandon’s other hand.
Brandon was laughing at something the blonde had said.
Then he looked down and saw me.
His smile died. His face drained of color. His arm slipped from the blonde’s shoulder as if it had been burned.
“Alyssa?” he breathed.
The blonde followed his gaze. Her eyes narrowed when she saw me, then widened when they landed on Dominic. She knew exactly who he was.
“Brandon,” she said sharply, tugging his sleeve. “Who is that?”
Brandon didn’t answer. He was already practically running down the stairs, his tuxedo tails flying.
“Alyssa, baby, I can explain—” he started, reaching for me.
Dominic shifted Sophie to his other arm and stepped between us, blocking Brandon’s path.
Brandon skidded to a halt. He looked up at my brother, and for the first time in seven years of marriage, I saw genuine fear in my husband’s eyes.
“Dominic Whitmore,” he whispered. “You’re—you’re Alyssa’s brother?”
May you like
Dominic smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“Surprise, Brandon.”
