CHAPTER 4: A Purse With Locked Corners

Adrienne's fingers tightened around the purse clasp.
Noah noticed because his father had taught him to watch hands. People lied with mouths. Hands tried to survive.
Inside that purse, he suspected, were the transfer papers Julian had prepared before the funeral flowers had browned. Temporary control. Interim authority. Emergency sale rights to the southern terminals.
Temporary was the word rich thieves used when they wanted to sound patient.
"You are not listed on the board," Adrienne said. "You are not listed in the active trust. You are not listed anywhere that matters."
Noah let her finish. Behind him, a shopping cart rattled somewhere in the wind, absurd and lonely in a lot built for executives.
"Dad built this company from a repair bay," he said. "He used to say paper matters only after someone decides what kind of person he is."
"How charming," Adrienne said.
Noah looked at Julian.
"You should have asked what kind of person he became after he stopped trusting either of you."