Nicky already knew what this was. Three weeks gone, and the vultures had finally circled.
He finally entered after 2 weeks.
When he walked into the west conference room, the Saint-Claire crest glared down from the wall like judgment.
Matthieu sat at the head, Armand's chair, as if he'd already claimed it. His smile was thin, polished. Vivienne was at his side, immaculate in cream silk, a surprise as she always said meetings were not her forte.
Antoinette lounged with amusement, waiting for blood.
Andrei leaned back with his arms crossed, smirking like he'd been rehearsing this day.
Beyond the family, the investors filled the remaining seats — Dubois, Rousseau, Gallagher — names that had been tied to the Saint-Claires for decades.
Marc sat farther down, silent, hands clasped, eyes steady on the table.
Antoinette's voice cut the room first. "Nicolas. At last. We were beginning without you."
Nicky didn't sit. "Go ahead. I know what this is."
