Marcus Sinclair watched his assistant leave the office and close the heavy mahogany door behind him. Privacy sealed, the three brothers faced one another across the polished conference table of Sinclair Holdings’ executive suite.
“Can you see Vivian clearly now?” Nathan asked quietly.
Marcus had always believed the latest evidence would be enough. Derek’s next words proved otherwise.
“A single phone call doesn’t prove she ordered the attack on Naomi,” Derek said, voice low.
Marcus’s brows drew together. “She spoke to Vivian right before the hit. What do you think they discussed the weather?”
Derek fell silent. His jaw tightened. The last fragile hope he had clung to for years finally cracked and fell away.
“I understand,” he said at last, disappointment raw in his eyes. “Do whatever
