The black car cut through the Manhattan night, sleek and silent, but inside Kingsley Rowe was anything but calm.

He pulled out his phone again and scrolled to a familiar contact: Mr. Hughes, the family lawyer. It rang twice before the voice answered, smooth and measured as always.

“Mr. Rowe?”

Kingsley didn’t waste time.

“Hughes. I want to pick up the divorce papers for Beth tonight. Are they ready?”

A pause. Then a sigh.

“I’m sorry, sir. I… can’t do that.”

...