She signed Charles Vanderbilt’s contract with a steady hand, using the heavy onyx pen from Liam’s old desk. The finality of the scratch was a lock turning, a cell door closing, or a vault opening she wasn't sure which yet. She scanned and emailed it directly to Charles’s executive assistant, copying Kaelan.
His reply was immediate. K.V.: The paperwork is a cage. Your signature is the lockpick. Meet me at the site.
The “site” was a vast, raw expanse of land on the city’s waterfront, the future location of Vanderbilt Holdings’ new North American headquarters, a project even more prestigious than Reykjavik. Earth-movers stood silent like sleeping dinosaurs under the gray sky. It was a place of pure potential, mud, and promise.
Kaelan stood before a topographic map mounted on a site trailer
