Chapter 2

Gemma didn't bother knocking. She shoved the heavy oak door open with both hands.

Keyshawn Vargas sat behind his massive desk, a phone pressed to his ear. He scowled at the interruption, covering the mouthpiece with his palm.

His eyes shot daggers at her, a silent command to get the hell out.

Gemma stepped inside. She pushed the door shut behind her and twisted the brass lock until it clicked.

She walked straight to the wall and yanked the telephone cord right out of the socket.

The line went dead.

Keyshawn slammed his hands on the desk and shot to his feet. His face flushed a dark, angry red.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he roared.

Gemma pulled out the leather guest chair and sat down. She crossed her legs.

"Shut up if you don't want the stock to tank at opening bell tomorrow," she said.

Keyshawn froze. The sheer authority radiating from his daughter hit him like a physical blow.

He blinked, quickly recovering his arrogance. "Stop this nonsense right now and get downstairs. You are embarrassing this family."

Gemma picked up the heavy steel cigar cutter resting on the edge of his desk. She flipped it open and closed, the sharp blades snapping with a metallic bite.

"I can walk out the front door right now and cancel the merger," she said. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to.

Keyshawn's jaw tightened. "If you run, the cash flow for Vargas Holdings dries up by tomorrow afternoon. You'll ruin us."

A dry, humorless laugh escaped Gemma's lips. "So you admit you're just selling me to cover your own failures."

"It is for the future of the family trust!" Keyshawn snapped, pointing a thick finger at her.

"You mean the trust that is currently hiding three hundred and forty-two million in toxic offshore debt?" Gemma asked.

Keyshawn's pupils dilated. The blood drained from his face.

"Who told you that?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a panicked whisper.

Gemma slammed the cigar cutter point-down into the mahogany desk. The blade bit deep into the expensive wood.

"I want the trust terms amended. I want ten percent of the voting shares transferred to my name. Now."

Keyshawn let out a bark of desperate laughter. "You can't even read a balance sheet, you stupid girl."

Gemma pulled her phone from her clutch. She tapped the screen twice.

A voice filled the quiet study. It was Keyshawn's voice, slurring slightly, calling the Hubbard family a bunch of uncultured thugs he was going to bleed dry.

Keyshawn lunged across the desk, his hands clawing for the device.

Gemma leaned back effortlessly, letting him grab nothing but air.

"I have this set on a five-minute delay," Gemma said, her thumb hovering over the screen. "Sign the shares over, or this goes to the Wall Street Journal."

Keyshawn shook with rage. He pointed a trembling finger at her. "You ungrateful bitch. You are no daughter of mine."

A sharp, phantom pain pierced Gemma's chest. The hidden truth of her real bloodline throbbed like an old wound. She pushed the feeling down instantly.

She pulled a printed document from her clutch and slid it across the desk toward him. She placed his favorite fountain pen right next to it.

The intercom on the wall buzzed. The MC's voice filtered through, politely requesting the bride to make her way to the stairs.

The ticking clock hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

Keyshawn stared at the tablet. He knew what Brion Hubbard would do to him if that recording leaked.

He snatched the pen, uncapped it with his teeth, and spit the cap onto the floor.

He pressed the nib against the paper, signing his name with enough force to tear through the top sheet.

Gemma picked up the document. She checked the inked signature, confirmed the transfer, and canceled the email timer.

A genuine, predatory smile touched her lips.

She stood up and smoothed the front of her silk dress.

"A pleasure doing business with you," she said.

She turned her back on him and walked toward the locked door.