Chapter 8 Ten Minutes

• Odette’s POV
• The club opened at eight. I got there at 7:50 with a legal pad, a capped pen that was a recorder, and a stamped temporary restraining order—a court order freezing any transfer of my voting rights or trust assignments until a judge says otherwise. Langley waited two blocks away. Callum was already inside. He didn’t join my table.
• Ellis arrived at 8:03. Fresh shave, tired eyes, slim folder, pen he clicked three times.
• “Ten minutes,” I said.
• He sat. “This is for optics. A temporary marital trust. Protective. We file after the board vote so investors don’t panic. I’ll take the PR—”
• “Walk me through it,” I said. “Terms. Control. Triggers.”
• He slid the draft over. “Your voting rights go to a trustee—me—for ninety days. I act in your best interest—”
• “Define ‘best interest.’”
• “Stability. Market confidence. Minimizing legal exposure.”
• “Whose exposure?”
• “Everyone’s,” he said, too fast.
• I read. Softer language than the church version. Same bones. “Why ninety?”
• “Ninety looks reasonable. Long enough to calm the board. Short enough for you to—”
• “Forgive you?”
• He swallowed. “Prove myself.”
• “You had five years.” I tapped the signature block. “Who drafted it?”
• “Savage & Kline.”
• “Before I sign anything, say this on the record.”
• He stiffened. “What record?”
• I uncapped my pen and set it on the pad. The light blinked once. “You told me to come the night my grandfather died. Garden door. No phone. You told me to say I shut off the corridor power for a buzzing bulb. You told me to ‘help the nurses’ by admitting I handled his medication. You put my bracelet on his desk. Yes or no.”
• Silence. Then: “Yes. I thought it would buy time. Sebastian said Brielle was—”
• “Terrified,” I finished.
• “I was wrong.”
• “You were convenient.” I placed the restraining order on top of his draft. “This kills your plan. Any trust or assignment touching my voting rights is frozen by court order. File around it and you can explain contempt to a judge.”
• He read the stamp and signature. Color drained. He touched the edge of the paper like it might change. “I was trying to help you.”
• “Then help. I want originals. Email archives. Zurich routing. Every payment to that data firm. Twenty-four hours.”
• “I’ll get it,” he said. “I swear.”
• “You’ve sworn a lot.” I capped the pen and stood. “Clock’s running.”
• I left him with his folder and a worse day than he planned.
• Callum waited in the atrium, off to the side. He fell in step. We reached the elevator before he spoke. “Confession?”
• “Enough to start. The restraining order is in effect.”
• “Good.” He hit the button. “Savage & Kline?”
• “He’s shopping for a conscience.”
• “He won’t find one there.”
• Downstairs, he handed me coffee the club wasn’t serving yet. “You did well,” he said.
• “I know.”
• “Sebastian next,” I added. “Start with Zurich.”
• “For the record,” he said, “Zurich is the Swiss private office Sebastian used to move money. I’ll put their boutique bank on notice, retain Swiss counsel, and flag those accounts.”
• “Good. Mira’s photo goes in the motion. We pull his power-of-attorney and freeze what he can touch.”
• Back at the house, Langley had already filed the restraining order with the club’s counsel and the registrar. He slid me a stamped confirmation. “Any attempt to move your votes is blocked,” he said.
• “Now make Sebastian’s day short.”
• We split tasks. Langley drafted notices and subpoenas. I recorded a board statement: independent counsel in the room, no governance changes, interference equals hostile action. Callum called the Zurich office—clear, direct, no raised voice. He used what they respect: emergency relief, fiduciary exposure, reputational risk. The line went quiet in the right places.
• At eleven, Ellis texted: I’m getting the emails. Don’t do anything that hurts us. I forwarded it to Langley. Ten minutes later, Ellis accidentally forwarded a screenshot from a KLINE partner: Draft a “temporary” voting trust Odette can sign at the board meeting—low-pressure, on-camera. Keep language soft. Convert to irrevocable with a later rider.
• “Plan desperate,” Callum said again.
• “Plan D,” I said. “Dead on arrival.”
• The corner of his mouth twitched. He nodded. “Agreed.”
• We left at 8:30 to meet Mira’s lawyer and finalize her affidavit. Small office. Glass table. She signed with steady hands. When we stepped into the empty hallway, I stopped.
• “Thank you,” I said.
• “You’re welcome,” he said.
• “You keep acting like this is your fight.”
• “It’s ours,” he said. “You lead. I clear the field.”
• I looked at him. Clean jaw. Calm eyes. Sleeves rolled to the right point. No crowding. No pretending, either.
• “I meant what I said,” I told him. “Only that night.”
• “I heard you.”
• I caught his tie and pulled him down. I didn’t end it fast. I angled his mouth, opened mine, and took my time. He groaned—low and involuntary—and tried to keep his hands off me. That failed. His fingers wrapped my waist, then slid up, one hand at the back of my neck, holding me there like he’d decided air could wait. Heat punched through the restraint we’d been pretending to have. When I finally broke the kiss, both of us were breathing hard.
• “Don’t read too much into it,” I said. My voice wasn’t as steady as I wanted.
• He gave a rough laugh, glanced down, then back up. “Tell that to the problem my suit is hiding.”
• I almost smiled. “Handle it.”
• “Working on it,” he said, still a little wrecked and still steady.
• My phone buzzed—Ellis again. Private room still open tomorrow if you want to talk without paper. I typed No and put the phone away.
• “Tomorrow we take Sebastian’s accounts offline,” I said. “Then we pull the board.”
• “I’ll be there,” Callum said.
• We headed for the car. No speeches. Just the next move. It was enough.