Arthur, tell me I'm a free man.

Arthur's voice on the other end was shaky. Unusually shaky. Mr. Sterling, we have a problem. Marcus frowned.

What problem? Did she refuse to move out? I'll call security. No, sir. It's not about moving out.

I just received a court summons delivered by hand, marked urgent. It's from the High Court of Probate.

So Marcus snapped. I told you I'm trying to buy that land. It's probably about the land deal. It is about the land, Marcus. But the summons requires your presence.

And it requires the presence of your ex-wife, Elena Vance. Specifically her. Marcus froze. Why the hell do they need Elena? I don't know, sir, but the judge presiding is Judge Harrison.

You know him? The hangman Harrison. He doesn't handle small claims. If he's calling us in, it's major. The hearing is tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m.

Attendance is mandatory. If you don't show up, you'll be held in contempt and the land deal is dead.

Marcus hung up the phone slowly. "What's wrong?" Jessica asked, seeing the color drain from his face. I have to see her again, Marcus muttered, staring at his reflection in the silverware. I have to go to court with Elena tomorrow.

Just one last hurdle, Jess. Just one last annoyance before we take over the world. He didn't notice that across the street, standing in the shadows of the bus stop, Elena was watching them through the restaurant window. She wasn't crying. She was holding a letter in her hand, a letter written on thick cream-colored paper with the seal of the Vance Trust embossed in gold.

She turned and boarded the bus, leaving the sight of her husband and his mistress behind.

The next morning, the sky over New York was a bruised purple, heavy with rain. The district courthouse was a daunting building of gray stone and pillars, designed to make everyone who entered feel small. Marcus strode up the steps, flanking Jessica on one side and Arthur Pendleton on the other. He looked every bit the billionaire tycoon in his charcoal suit, but inside he was agitated. He had meetings to attend, and this detour was costing him money.

"Where is she?" Marcus hissed, scanning the hallway outside courtroom 4B. "She'll be here," Arthur said, wiping sweat from his forehead. She has to be.

Just as the clock struck 9, the heavy oak doors swung open. But Elena didn't walk in from the hallway. She was already inside. Marcus stopped dead in his tracks. The courtroom was packed, but it wasn't filled with the usual riffraff of petty crimes.

The gallery was seated with men and women in expensive suits, serious people. Marcus recognized a few faces. The CEO of a rival tech firm, the head of a major bank, and several high-profile real estate developers. And there, sitting at the plaintiff's table, was Elena.

But she wasn't wearing the gray cardigan. She was wearing a black dress tailored to perfection. Simple, but undeniably elegant. Her hair, usually tied back in a messy bun, was down, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves. She sat with her back straight, her hands clasped on a leather folder.

"What is she doing at the plaintiff's table?" Marcus whispered furiously to Arthur. "That's the table for the people suing. We are the ones buying the land." "I don't know," Arthur stammered.

They took their seats at the defendant's table. Jessica tried to sit next to Marcus, but the bailiff stepped forward. Ma'am, only parties named in the summons may sit beyond the bar. You'll have to sit in the gallery. Jessica huffed, humiliated, and stomped to the back benches.

"All rise!" the bailiff's voice boomed. Judge Harrison entered. He was an older man with eyes like flint and a reputation for destroying careers with a single gavel strike. He sat down, adjusted his glasses, and looked over the rim of them. First at Marcus, then at Elena.

"We are here today to execute the last will and testament of Silas Vance, and to settle the ownership of the assets held within the Vance Trust," Judge Harrison announced. His voice echoed in the silent room. Marcus leaned over to Arthur. "Why are we reading the gardener's will? Did he leave me a shovel?"

He chuckled softly, but Arthur didn't laugh. Arthur was staring at the document the judge had just opened.

"Mr. Sterling," the judge said, his eyes snapping to Marcus. "You seem amused. Perhaps you would like to tell us the joke." "My apologies, Your Honor," Marcus said, putting on his charming business smile.

"I'm just confused. I'm here to bid on a land lease for Sterling Enterprises. I was told the owner of the land had passed. My ex-wife's father was a simple laborer. I believe there's been a clerical error mixing up two different Vances."

The courtroom remained deadly silent. The CEO of the bank in the back row coughed awkwardly. Judge Harrison smiled. It was not a nice smile. A simple laborer, the judge repeated.

He looked at Elena. Mrs. Vance, or rather Ms. Vance, now that the divorce was finalized yesterday, is that how you described your father to your husband?

Elena stood up. Her voice was clear, projecting to the back of the room without a microphone. "I never described him as anything, your honor. Marcus never asked. He assumed.

He saw dirt under my father's fingernails and assumed he was poor. He didn't know that my father liked to work the earth because it was the only thing that kept him grounded after managing a global empire."

Marcus blinked. Empire? What is she talking about? Judge Harrison cleared his throat and began to read. I, Silas Vance, being of sound mind, do hereby leave my entire estate to my only daughter, Elena Vance.

This estate includes the holdings of the Vance Trust. The judge paused for dramatic effect. The assets are as follows. The Vance Agricultural Group, the Midtown Tech Park, the majority shareholder position in Omni Group. Marcus felt the blood drain from his face.

Omni Group, the company he was trying to merge with to save his own skin.

And the judge continued, "The land currently leased to Sterling Enterprises, located at 555 Fifth Avenue, upon which the Sterling Tower is built." The room spun. Marcus gripped the table. 555 Fifth Avenue. That was his headquarters, his flagship building.

He didn't own the land. He thought he had a 99-year lease that he was about to renew.