She sighed dramatically.
"Oh, for heaven's sake. Not now."
She answered.
"Elliot, I'm in the middle of something."
The voice on the other end was unusually tense.
"Victoria, where are you?"
"Outside my house. Why?"
"Are you with a man named Malik Carter?"
Her smile faded slightly.
She looked toward the Black homeowner.
"Why?"
Her attorney took a breath.
"Please tell me you haven't done anything to him."
Victoria frowned.
"What are you talking about?"
"Victoria, listen carefully. The investment transaction closed this morning. Northstar Equity Holdings now controls fifty-one percent of Whitmore Communities."
She rolled her eyes.
"I know that. We discussed it yesterday."
The attorney's voice became sharper.
"Do you understand who owns Northstar?"
Victoria went still.
Across the driveway, Sergeant Rourke was reaching for his handcuffs.
Malik remained beside the Ferrari, his face controlled, his hands visible.
Victoria swallowed.
"Elliot?"
Her attorney lowered his voice.
"Malik Carter. The man standing in front of you. He's the sole owner of Northstar Equity Holdings."
For a moment, Victoria seemed unable to breathe.
The attorney continued.
"He controls fifty-one percent of your company, Victoria."
Her eyes widened.
She looked toward Malik again.
The navy shirt.
The expensive car.
The mansion.
Everything she'd mocked only minutes earlier.
Her hand began trembling.
And then her attorney asked something that made the blood drain from her face.
"Victoria, why is the police department calling our corporate office about a Ferrari theft allegation involving the controlling shareholder?"
She looked toward Sergeant Rourke.
The officer was still holding Malik's wrist.
Her voice cracked.
"Elliot... I think I've made a mistake."
There was silence on the line.
Then her attorney said something she would remember for the rest of her life.
"Victoria, the car is the least of your problems."
But the real reason Malik Carter had acquired control of Whitmore Communities had nothing to do with embarrassing its founder.
And the woman who'd called police on him was about to discover that the company's most serious secrets were not hidden in its luxury developments.
They were hidden in the records of ordinary homeowners who had spent years trying to protect their houses.
Sixteen months earlier, Malik Carter had been standing outside a small redbrick home in southwest Atlanta, holding his father's old toolbox.
The house was modest, with a narrow driveway, a cracked walkway, and a porch swing that creaked whenever someone sat down. A faded blue pickup truck stood beneath a tree, and several flowerpots lined the steps.
Malik had grown up there.