“Update?" Sarah asked, half in the kitchen, half in her shoes.
Mr. Knight didn't look up from the email he'd already printed so he could underline it with the satisfaction of ink. “Whitman Senior filed the papers this morning," he said. “Board notified. Family office adjusted. Owen's out."
“Out as in…?"
“As in 'no longer heir,'" he said. “As in 'stipend cut to an allowance the press will call generous and the cousins will call charity.' As in 'project approvals routed around his desk like it's a pothole.'"
Sarah leaned against the counter. “I'm not… glad."
“I am," he said bluntly, then softened. “But I understand. Peace isn't gloat; it's quiet."
She let out a breath she hadn't noticed she was holding. “Then I choose quiet."
Alex came in with a grocery bag like a civilian. “Choose al
