POV: Arthur
Maxwell was a fool.
I stood by the window of my private study, looking out over the sprawling grounds of my estate. I had spent fifty years building Jordan Industries from a mid-sized firm into a global structure. I had ruthlessly crushed my rivals, bought politicians, and secured a legacy that was supposed to last for centuries.
And my grandson was tearing it all down over a childish obsession.
The stock market had opened three hours ago, and our shares were already plummeting. Rumors of the divorce, the voided prenup, and the audio recording had leaked to the board of directors. Panic was spreading like a virus. Maxwell was too busy acting like a broken-hearted teenager to manage the crisis. He was sending private investigators to Brooklyn and screaming at his lawyers.
