yes.

Problems were identified, pursued, and controlled before they spread.

But his eyes drifted back to the page from Whitmore, Hale & Mercer.

The highlighted line sat in his mind like a blade.

“Not yet,” he said.

Marcus looked almost surprised.

Nathan turned away from him.

“Just tell me whether she reached the property safely.”

That was the lie he told himself.

That it was concern, not control.

Protection, not possession.

Marcus inclined his head and left.

Nathan stood alone in the silent foyer where Grace had apparently spent the night waiting for him.

The marble floor reflected the first hard light of morning.

He imagined her sitting there in the dark, shoes kicked off, makeup ruined, listening for a car that never came.

The image struck him with a violence he had not expected.

He had wanted to frighten her.

Only for a moment.

Only enough to wound her pride the way she had wounded his.

He had not imagined her alone in the rain.

He had not imagined her walking into that giant house with no one to meet her.

He had not imagined dawn finding her still awake and done with him.

He closed his eyes.

For the first time in years, control felt like something he had lost rather than something he possessed.

By noon he knew only fragments.

Grace had taken a cab from downtown.

The camera outside the front gate caught her entering the property just after midnight, soaked through, face turned down.

Another camera caught her leaving just after seven with one bag and no driver.

She had switched off the location services on the phone he paid for.

One of the kitchen staff said she had taken cash from the small drawer in the breakfast room where she kept emergency money.

Then Marcus returned with a phone held carefully in his palm.

“There’s a woman on the line who says she represents Mrs.

Blackwell.”

Nathan held out his hand.

Marcus hesitated.

“She asked that I put it on speaker.”

Nathan’s expression hardened.

“Do it.”

Marcus tapped the screen and set the phone on the foyer console.

A woman’s voice came through.

Cool, mature, and unimpressed.

“Mr.

Blackwell.

My name is Eleanor Hale.

I’ve represented Grace’s family for twenty years.”

Nathan knew the name.

Everyone in the city’s legal and financial circles knew it.

Eleanor Hale was the kind of attorney people hired when they expected war and wanted to survive it.

“Where is my wife?” Nathan asked.

A pause.

“She is safe.”

“I asked where she is.”

“And I answered the only part you’re entitled to.”

His voice sharpened.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“No, Mr.

Blackwell.

What I’m enjoying is the fact that your wife finally called someone before apologizing for your behavior.”

Marcus kept his eyes on the floor.

Nathan hated that.

“This is a private marital matter,” Nathan said.

Eleanor’s laugh was brief and cold.

“When a man abandons his wife on a city curb after midnight because she spoke to another human being at a fundraiser, then returns home to discover she has exercised her legal rights, it stops being private.”

Nathan said nothing.

The silence encouraged her.

“Grace has instructed me to inform you of three things.

First, do not attempt to use your security staff, private investigators, drivers,