Isabelle Grant lived in a townhouse three blocks from the restaurant, a property Maya recognized from Julian's research as one of the few assets the family had kept entirely separate from the collapsing firm — likely, she understood now, because Richard had structured the leash to leave her just enough personal security to keep functioning.
She opened the door herself, and surprise flickered across her face at the sight of them together before it smoothed into the same composed warmth she'd worn at dinner.
"This is unexpected. Come to negotiate my board seat in person?"
"We came to talk about Wexbridge Capital," Ethan said.
Every trace of composure went out of her face at once.
She didn't invite them in. She stood in the doorway for a long moment, calculating, and then stepped back.
