Chapter 3

The morning sun offered no warmth.

Blair stood in front of the Gilbert Group headquarters on Wall Street. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her throat was raw.

She walked toward the towering glass doors.

A security guard stepped in front of the turnstiles. He crossed his arms.

"I need to see my husband," Blair said. Her voice was hoarse.

"Mr. Gilbert is not in the building, ma'am," the guard said. He didn't move.

The click-clack of red-soled heels echoed across the marble lobby.

Paige Mercer, Blackburn's chief assistant, walked toward them. She wore a pristine white suit. Her lips were painted a sharp red.

Paige stopped on the other side of the turnstile. She looked Blair up and down. Her eyes lingered on Blair's wrinkled cashmere sweater.

"Mrs. Gilbert," Paige said. Her tone was dripping with condescension. "The CEO is in Orlando handling important private matters. He cannot be disturbed."

Blair gripped the metal bar of the turnstile. "My father is dying. I need to speak to him."

Paige leaned closer. Her voice dropped, but it was loud enough for the passing employees to hear.

"We all saw the news about the Morgan Group's fraud, Blair. Don't bring your family's mess here to bleed Mr. Gilbert dry. He has already instructed us to block all calls from you."

The employees in the lobby stopped walking. They whispered to each other. They pointed at Blair.

Their eyes were full of mockery.

Blair's face burned. A wave of intense humiliation washed over her.

She let go of the metal bar. She straightened her spine. She turned around and walked out of the building.

She dragged her exhausted body back to Mount Sinai Hospital.

The chief doctor was waiting for her outside the ICU. He held a chart.

"Ms. Morgan," he said. "If the deposit is not paid by noon, hospital policy dictates we must disconnect the ECMO machine. I am sorry."

Blair didn't say a word. She walked past him and went straight into the public restroom.

She turned on the faucet. The water was freezing. She splashed it onto her pale face.

She gripped the edges of the porcelain sink. She looked up at the mirror.

Her eyes dropped to her left hand.

The fluorescent light bounced off her ring finger.

A ten-carat pink diamond sat there. It was flawless. It was the Gilbert family heirloom. It was the symbol of her cage.

Blair didn't hesitate.

She grabbed the diamond. She pulled.

The ring slid over her knuckle and came off.

She walked out of the hospital. She took the subway to Fifth Avenue.

She walked down a narrow, hidden alleyway. She pushed open the heavy iron door of an exclusive pawnshop.

The shop smelled like old wood and dust.

An elderly appraiser with silver hair sat behind a thick glass counter.

Blair placed the ring on the velvet mat.

The appraiser picked it up. He screwed a jeweler's loupe into his right eye. He examined the stone.

He lowered the loupe. He looked at Blair. His eyes widened in shock. He recognized the Gilbert diamond.

"I need cash. Now," Blair said. Her voice was dead.

The appraiser saw the desperation in her eyes. He smiled a greedy smile.

"This is a highly recognizable piece," he said. "If you want a collateral loan, I can give you one hundred thousand dollars cash right now. But the interest rate is steep. If you don't redeem it within thirty days, the ring becomes my property."

"Give me the loan contract," Blair demanded.

He slid a piece of paper across the counter. Blair picked up a pen. She signed her name. She didn't care about the exorbitant interest. She just needed her father to live.

She walked out with a bank draft.

She ran back to the hospital. She slapped the draft onto the billing counter.

The printer buzzed. It spit out a long receipt.

Blair walked back to the ICU. She stood in front of the glass window.

She watched her father's chest rise and fall. The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the room.

The tight knot in her chest finally loosened. She let out a long, shaky breath.

She looked down at her left hand.

Her ring finger was bare. There was a faint, pale indentation where the diamond used to sit.

She realized something in that moment. This marriage was never a partnership. It was an execution block. And it was slowly killing her.

Blair reached into her pocket. She pulled out her phone with the shattered screen.

She dialed her family's private lawyer.

"Draft the divorce papers," she said. "I want out."