CHAPTER 8: The Penthouse Was Never His

Two attorneys entered first.
Not dramatically. Not loudly. They stepped through the glass doors with leather folders, dark coats, and the tired composure of people who had been waiting years for one instruction.
Behind them came building security.
Grant’s face hardened. “You cannot enter my residence.”
One attorney opened a folder.
“Mr. Moreau, the residence is held by Harlan Eighty-Seven LLC. Your occupancy is tied to your marriage agreement and the executive conduct clause in the financing package.”
The words landed without shouting.
That made them worse.
Emma stood beside the table, still holding the phone. Robert remained on the line, silent now, letting the machinery speak for him.
Grant looked around the penthouse as if the windows, the sofa, the lamps, and the skyline had betrayed him.
They had not.
They had simply stopped pretending to belong to him.
The lead attorney never looked at Emma with pity. Emma appreciated that. Pity would have made her feel more exposed than the fall had.
He treated her like the principal signatory in a room of people who had forgotten the difference between a wife and an asset.