After My Divorce, I Married His Brother

Spencer called his father at nine in the morning.

I know because Tobias's assistant told Diana, who told me two hours later over coffee at a café in Tribeca. Diana had her sources. She always had her sources.

"He's panicking," Diana said. She stirred her latte with the tiny spoon they always gave her, even though she never used sugar. "Apparently he spent twenty minutes on the phone demanding Tobias 'handle the Rex situation.' Those were his exact words."

I took a sip of my coffee. "And?"

"Tobias told him he'd look into it." Diana smiled. "Then he hung up and took a call from his broker."

I set my cup down. Straightened the napkin beside it until the edges lined up with the table's grain.

"Spencer still thinks his father is on his side," I said.

Diana's smile widened. "Spencer thinks a lot of things."

---

Miles Hartley's office was smaller than I expected. Thirty-fourth floor. Books on two walls. A single window that looked east toward the river.

He stood when I entered. Shook my hand. Gestured to the chair across from his desk.

"Mrs. Coleman," he said. "Thank you for coming."

"Laila," I said.

He nodded. Sat. Folded his hands on the desk between us.

"I've prepared the documentation," he said. "Revocation of board seat. Suspension of voting rights. Both effective the moment the divorce decree is finalized and witnessed. All it requires is your signature authorizing the action."

He slid a folder across the desk.

I opened it. Read the first page. Then the second. The language was clean. Precise. No room for interpretation.

"Walter knows?" I asked.

Miles smiled. It was a small smile, the kind that didn't reach his eyes but wasn't cold either.

"Walter designed the structure," he said. "He's known for five years that this day would come. He just didn't know when."

I picked up the pen he'd left beside the folder.

"How long have you known?" I asked.

"Since the trust was created." He paused. "I was the one who drafted it."

I looked at him. Really looked at him. Mid-sixties. Gray suit. Steady hands. The kind of man who'd spent forty years watching families destroy themselves and had learned not to flinch.

"You never said anything," I said.

"You never needed me to," he said. "You carried it quietly. That's rare."

I signed the authorization on the last page. Dated it. Slid the folder back across the desk.

Miles took it. Placed it in a locked drawer. Looked at me one more time.

"Everything is ready," he said.

I stood. Smoothed my skirt. "Thank you, Miles."

"It's been an honor," he said.

I walked out before the words could settle too deeply.

---

She showed up at six PM.

I was in the kitchen, pouring wine I didn't intend to drink, when the doorbell rang.

I wasn't expecting anyone. Diana had texted an hour earlier to say she'd be at a gallery opening in Chelsea. Rex was in meetings until eight.

I opened the door.

Charli Guzman stood in the hallway wearing a black dress that cost more than most people's rent and a diamond necklace I recognized immediately.

Spencer had bought it two years ago. For my birthday. Tiffany. Emerald-cut stones. Platinum setting. I'd worn it once—to a Coleman Group gala—and then put it back in the box because the clasp kept slipping.

Charli smiled. Tilted her head so the diamonds caught the light.

"I was in the neighborhood," she said. "Thought I'd stop by."

I didn't move from the doorway. "Did you."

"Spencer and I are looking at apartments," she said. She touched the necklace absently, like she'd forgotten it was there. "Something bigger. More... us."

I looked at the necklace. Then at her face. Then back at the necklace.

"That clasp is defective," I said.

Charli blinked. "What?"

"The clasp." I gestured toward her neck. "It slips. Always has. I stopped wearing it because I didn't want to lose it somewhere embarrassing."

Her hand froze on the necklace.

I stepped back. Opened the door wider.

"But I'm sure you'll be fine," I said. "Have a good evening, Charli."

I closed the door.

Stood there in the entryway for ten seconds, listening to the silence on the other side.

Then I heard it. Footsteps. Slow. Hesitant.

Moving away.

I walked back to the kitchen. Picked up my wine glass. Took a sip.

My phone buzzed.

Rex: "Still on for tomorrow?"

I typed back: "Two o'clock. Park Avenue."

He sent back a single word: "Ready."

I set the phone down. Looked out the window at the city lights stretching south toward the financial district.

Everything was ready.

I just had to sign my name one more time.