The chaos of the ballroom faded into a muffled roar the moment the doors of Arthur’s sedan closed, encasing me in a bubble of leather and silence. My hands were perfectly still in my lap, not a single tremor. I felt no elation, no savage glee. The takedown had not been an act of passion; it had been a deleveraging. A necessary, brutal, and meticulously executed unwinding of a toxic asset that had once been my life.
I stared out at the blur of New York’s lights, each one a data point in a system I now saw with terrifying clarity.
“My legal team is waiting at their offices,” Arthur said, his voice a low hum that didn’t demand a response. “They’re the best in the business at this. White-collar defense, witness protection protocols, everything.”
I turned from the window. “I don’t need a def
