In the morning, Sean was gone. Catherine climbed out of bed and dressed quickly, pulling on a floral sundress and a pair of espadrilles. She arranged her hair in a loose bun and ran down the stairs. Geoffrey was waiting for her at the front door.

She followed the bodyguard out of the mansion and climbed into a car. She was relieved when Geoffrey got into the front seat—at least there wasn't a chauffeur to spy on her. As Geoffrey drove, Catherine leaned forward in her chair and studied the young bodyguard.

​​

"How long have you worked for Sean?" she asked.

"About three months," Geoffrey answered. "Despite my background, I was hired as a sort of maid, but I quickly got promoted to security."

"Hmm," Catherine said. "I thought you were a maid, and I haven't seen any other female bodyguards."

"That's because I'm the only one," Geoffrey said proudly. "Though, to be fair, I sometimes wonder if the promotion was a mistake. Maybe someone saw my name and got confused."

"I don't think Sean makes mistakes," Catherine said.

Geoffrey laughed, "That's true. Besides, he's assigned me to you now."

"Assigned you to me?" Catherine asked, feeling anger rise in her chest. "Is that why you were watching me in the garden?"

Geoffrey looked unembarrassed, "Yes."

Catherine fumed silently in the back seat.

"He just wants to protect you," Geoffrey finally said.

"Protect me?" she asked. "From what?"

Geoffrey just shook her head and stared at the road, and Catherine sighed and sank back into the leather seat. The car wound through the city streets, finally stopping in front of a modern apartment building. Catherine opened the door and craned her neck to stare up at the tall glass and steel structure.

"Wait," Geoffrey said. "I have to find a parking spot."

"Just stay with the car," Catherine said, already walking toward the door. "This won't take long."

"I have to go with you," Geoffrey said.

"Then follow me if you want," Catherine said, walking faster.

She pressed the buzzer for the apartment and glanced over her shoulder as she waited. She saw Geoffrey climb out of the car, lock the doors, and leave the car in the middle of the street. The hazard lights blinked red, and Geoffrey jogged forward.

"I'm not going to leave you unprotected," Geoffrey said.

The door clicked open, and Catherine walked inside and stepped into the waiting elevator. She and Geoffrey rode up to the eighth floor and walked down the long, modern hallway. Checking apartment number one last time, she knocked on a door.

A teenage girl opened the door, her eyes still blurry with sleep. She yawned and glanced at Catherine and Geoffrey. Her eyes widened, and she did a double-take.

"Catherine?" she asked.

"Hi, Anne," Catherine said. "Is your dad home?"

"Oh my god," Anne said. "It is you. You've changed so much." She turned her face away from the door and screamed over her shoulder, "Dad, guess who's here? It's Catherine!"

A muffled question came from somewhere inside the apartment.

Anne shouted back, "No, Catherine Stewart."

The door swung open wider, and Anne gestured for them to come in. Catherine stepped into the apartment just as Alan Russell appeared. He stared at her for a moment, and then his face broke into a wide smile.

"My God, Catherine," he said. "I must be dreaming."

"It's good to see you, Alan," she said.

"It's wonderful to see you," he said. "To what do we owe the honor?"

"Well," she said. "I was hoping to talk to you."

"I see," he said.

"In private," she added, glancing at Geoffrey.

"Of course," Alan said. "Come into my study."

He gestured with one hand, and Catherine followed after him. Geoffrey walked beside her.

"You've already followed me into the apartment," Catherine said. "Surely, I don't need a babysitter present to have a conversation with an old family friend."

Geoffrey looked wounded, "Orders are orders."

Catherine sighed and allowed the bodyguard to follow her into Alan's study. Alan gestured at a black leather chair with blocky, metal legs, and Catherine sat down. Alan settled into the chair behind his desk, and Geoffrey stood discreetly by the door. Catherine looked around the study.

Glass and steel bookshelves lined one of the walls, displaying neatly arranged books on economics, history, and business. The rest of the furnishing was sparse—a glass-topped desk, a strange and severe abstract sculpture made of steel, and a chandelier made of square blocks of glass. Behind Alan's desk, the entire wall was made of glass, giving a dizzying panoramic view of the city below.

"How are you, Alan?" she asked.

"I'm good, dear," he said. "How are you? I heard you got married recently—pity I couldn't be at the wedding."

Catherine blushed—as far as she knew that Alan hadn't been invited to the wedding at all. When her dad was alive, Alan had been one of his most capable employees and one of his closest friends. He had invested a ton of his family money in the Feather Textile Corporation back when the company was just getting started, and he'd stayed on as an employee and board member for years.

When her dad died, Lawson told her that Alan was trying to seize the company. She believed him and cut off all contact with Alan and his family. Years into her life with Marco, she realized that Lawson had lied about Alan too.

"I'm so sorry about that," she said. "It just happened so quickly. I want to make it up to you, though. Some night you have to come to have dinner with Sean and me."

Alan nodded slowly, "I'd like to meet your husband. I've heard quite a lot about him, but I've only met him briefly. Tell me, Cathy, is he as brutal and ruthless as he looks? Are you okay?"

She shifted uncomfortably in the hard leather chair, aware that Geoffrey was listening to everything they said.

"He's a good man," she said finally.

Alan raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything else.

"Can you tell me about the company?" she asked, eager to change the subject. "What's going on?"

Alan leaned back in his chair and sighed, "Feather Textile Corporation is a mess."

"Is it true it's on the verge of bankruptcy?" she asked.

"I'm afraid it is," he answered. "Your uncle doesn't know a thing about management or business. He fired many of the best workers and hired inexperienced people who are loyal to him. Together, they've managed to make terrible decisions and bring the company to the brink of collapse."

"What about the shareholders?" she asked.

"They're not happy," he replied. "They're putting a lot of pressure on Lawson right now. If he can't turn the company around in the next three months, they're going to force him to step down."

"Really?" Catherine asked. "Why didn't they do it before?"

"Well, Lawson is the largest shareholder," Alan said. "It will be difficult to remove him. They'd need a unanimous vote, and he'll never vote against himself."

"How large are his shares?" she asked.

"He holds a 20% stake in the firm," Alan answered.

Catherine shook her head, "That can't be possible. I thought he just held 5%. What happened?"

Alan shook his head sadly, "Don't you know? He took your father's shares."

"What?" she asked, suddenly furious. "He took them?"

"Well, he claims your father gave them to him," Alan said.

"No," she said. "That's impossible. My dad would never do that."

"I happen to agree with you," Alan said. "But I can't prove it, and he has some sort of paperwork."

"Well then, it must be forged," she said.

"It could be," Alan said.

Catherine pressed her lips together and clenched her hands into fists. Her mind raced. If Lawson controlled the majority of the shares, it would be almost impossible to remove him. She'd have to prove that his claims were forged.

"And how many shares do you have, Alan?" she asked.

"Not enough," he said sadly. "Moreover, your uncle has done everything in his power to push me out of the company. I'm afraid that these days I'm just a figurehead—powerless to do anything. I'm sorry, Cathy."

"It's not your fault," she said. "I just hate to see the company fail."

"I know," Alan agreed. "But why the sudden curiosity about it?"

"I'm not a child anymore," she said. "And I'm done looking the other way while my uncle drives it into the ground. I want to get involved."

"I know you do," Alan said. "But you're still young and untested in business. You need to be careful—there are many powerful, even dangerous men out there."

"I know," she said. "But I can't watch them destroy my dad's legacy."

Alan sighed, "Just be careful."

"I will," she promised.

She stared out the window, watching the muddy Thames move sluggishly in the distance. The situation was bleak. She'd hoped Alan would have a solution, but he was just as helpless as she was.

"I have to go," she said finally.

She stood, and Alan did the same. Together, they left the study and walked into the living room with Geoffrey trailing behind them. Anne lay on the sofa, sipping a mug of coffee.

"Are you leaving already?" Anne asked.

"I'm afraid so," Catherine said.

Anne's face fell. Before Catherine's father died, Anne had spent a lot of time with Catherine, and Catherine had treated her like a younger sister—helping her study, giving her clothes, and offering advice about boys and friends.

"But my number hasn't changed," Catherine added. "If you want to go shopping like old times, just text me."

Anne smiled and nodded, and Catherine walked to the door.

"Wait," Alan said.

She turned and looked at him. He looked nervous and uncertain.

"What is it?" she asked.

"There's something you should know," he said. "I wasn't going to tell you because I'm worried about you, and I don't want you to get in over your head."

"What is it?" she asked, her heart racing.

"When your father died, he controlled almost 30% of the company," Alan said. "Lawson seized as many of his shares as he could, but he didn't get all of them. There's about 10% that's still unaccounted for. I believe your father has those shares protected through a lawyer somewhere."

"Oh?" Catherine asked.

"I think he wanted you and Samuel to have them one day," Alan said.