The moment Nora Sterling saw her husband rest his hand on another woman’s waist, she stopped wondering whether her seven-year marriage could still be rescued.

Forty-eight hours later, Lucian Moreau sat in the opulent presidential suite of the Drake Hotel, sipping vintage scotch as he waited for his legal team to confirm the injunction.

The suite door was kicked off its hinges with a deafening crash.

A squad of federal marshals flooded the room, followed by the lead prosecutor for the Northern District of Illinois and Nora Vance herself, flanked by Marcus.

Lucian calmly set his glass down. “This is international harassment, Mrs. Vance. My legal claim to the trust’s oversight is completely legitimate under Swiss corporate law.”

“Your claim expired twenty minutes ago, Lucian,” Nora said, tossing a thick dossier onto the glass table. “These are the unredacted personal ledgers of Eleanor Sterling, authenticated by Julian Sterling under federal immunity.”

Lucian’s confident smirk wavered.

“Eleanor didn't just borrow money from your family to corner the Vance market,” Nora continued, her voice razor-sharp and unwavering. “She laundered over fifty million dollars of your cartel’s illicit European funds through fake Sterling-Vance logistics routes. Every single wire transfer carries your digital signature.”

The federal prosecutor stepped forward, producing a set of steel handcuffs. “Lucian Moreau, you are under arrest for international money laundering, conspiracy, and wire fraud. Interpol is simultaneously seizing your family’s assets across Zurich and Paris.”