He slammed the door on his way out.
Quinn emerged from the shadows, his gaze cutting like a blade in the direction William had gone.
"Should I break his leg, Miss Ashford?"
"Not yet." I walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and watched William's car disappear into the night. "Quinn, did you finish looking into how Alma supposedly saved him?"
Quinn handed me a file, the faintest trace of a cold smile at the corner of his mouth. "It's all here. The car accident five years ago was staged. Alma hired people to arrange the whole thing. She barely got a scratch, then faked a disability to guilt-trip William for half a decade."
I took the file and drew a long breath.
William, the debt you're so proud of repaying is nothing but a joke from start to finish.
Tomorrow, I'll make you watch your faith crumble with your own eyes.
The following evening. The InterContinental Hotel, the most luxurious venue in Crestfield.
Stephens Group's IPO gala was in full swing.
The ballroom was packed with the city's elite. William stood on stage in a bespoke suit, radiating confidence, every inch the conquering king.