Isabella POV
Rain hammered against the black umbrella above my head, each drop feeling like another nail in the coffin that held what remained of my world. The cemetery stretched before me in shades of gray, gray sky, gray headstones, gray faces of people who'd come to pay their respects to Richard Sterling. My father. The man who'd built an empire with his bare hands and left it to me to either save or watch burn.
I stood at the edge of his grave, watching them lower the mahogany casket into the earth, and tried to feel something other than the hollow ache that had consumed me for weeks. Grief should have been there. Love. Even anger at him for leaving me with this mess. Instead, all I felt was the crushing weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders like a lead blanket.
"He was a good man, Isabella." The voice belonged to Henry Morrison, my father's oldest friend and the chairman of Sterling Industries' board of directors. His weathered hand touched my shoulder, but the gesture felt more like a shackle than comfort. "He built something lasting. Something meaningful."
Something dying, I wanted to say. Something hemorrhaging money while I was playing at business school, learning theories that mean nothing when faced with real-world failure.
Instead, I nodded and murmured the appropriate response. "Thank you for being here, Henry."
The crowd began to disperse as the service concluded, black-clad figures melting away into the gray afternoon like shadows. I should have mingled, should have pressed flesh and made the connections that might save Sterling Industries from the slow death it was currently suffering. But my feet remained rooted to the soggy ground, my eyes fixed on the brass nameplate that would soon be covered by six feet of dirt.
Richard Sterling. Beloved father, visionary leader.
The irony wasn't lost on me. Visionary leaders didn't leave their companies three months from bankruptcy. They didn't hide crushing debt and failed investments from their daughters until it was too late to fix anything.
"Miss Sterling?"
I turned to find Marcus Chen, our head of legal, approaching with the kind of expression that promised more bad news. At twenty-eight, Marcus had been Dad's protégé in the legal department, groomed to be my ally in the boardroom battles ahead. Right now, he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"The reading of the will is scheduled for tomorrow morning," he said, rain dripping from his umbrella onto my black heels. "But there are some things we need to discuss before then. Urgent things."
Of course there were. There always were. "How urgent?"
"Board meeting urgent. Emergency session urgent." His voice dropped. "Isabella, there are... developments you need to know about before you officially inherit."
The hollow ache in my chest sharpened into something that felt suspiciously like panic. "What kind of developments?"
Marcus glanced around the nearly empty cemetery, then stepped closer. "Not here. Too many ears, too many people with too much interest in Sterling Industries' business."
I followed his gaze across the rows of headstones and froze. There, standing beneath an ancient oak tree about fifty yards away, was a figure in an expensive black coat. Even through the rain, even at this distance, something about his posture struck me as familiar. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that the wind kept lifting despite what looked like an attempt to tame it. But it was the way he stood that caught my attention, perfectly still, perfectly focused, like a predator watching prey.
Watching me.
"Marcus," I said slowly, not taking my eyes off the stranger. "Who is that?"
Marcus followed my gaze and I heard his sharp intake of breath. "I don't know. But he's been there for the entire service."
A chill that had nothing to do with the October weather ran down my spine. The man was too far away for me to make out his features clearly, but something about him sent warning bells clanging in my head. He wasn't a mourner, there was nothing grief-stricken about his stance. He wasn't press either; they'd been herded into a designated area by security and were long gone.
He was just watching. Waiting.
"Miss Sterling." Marcus's voice had taken on an edge of urgency. "We really should go. There's a car waiting."
I started to turn away, but some instinct made me look back one more time. The man under the oak tree hadn't moved, but now his head was tilted slightly, as if he could feel my attention even at this distance. For one impossible moment, I could have sworn he was smiling.
Then the wind shifted, driving rain sideways across the cemetery, and when the gray curtain cleared, he was gone.
"Isabella?" Marcus was holding the car door open, his expression bordering on impatient. "We really do need to talk about tomorrow's meeting."
I slid into the backseat of the black sedan, my mind still on the stranger. Something about him had felt significant, though I couldn't put my finger on why. Maybe it was just the stress of the day, the overwhelming knowledge that I was about to inherit a failing company and all the enemies that came with it.
Or maybe it was something else. Something that whispered of complications I wasn't prepared for.
"Marcus," I said as the car pulled away from the cemetery, leaving my father to his eternal rest. "Start with the worst news first."
He turned in the passenger seat to face me, and the expression on his face made my stomach drop. "Someone's been buying up Sterling Industries stock. Quietly, through shell companies and third-party acquisitions. As of this morning, they own eighteen percent of the company."
Eighteen percent. Just under the threshold that would require public disclosure. Whoever was doing this knew corporate law and knew how to stay hidden while positioning for a strike.
"Do we know who?" I asked, though I was already certain I wouldn't like the answer.
"That's the problem. The paper trail is deliberately obscured, but our investigators think it all leads back to one company. Cross Enterprises."
The name meant nothing to me, but the way Marcus said it, like he was delivering a death sentence, told me everything I needed to know.
"Should I know that name?"
"Cross Enterprises has been acquiring failing companies for the past five years. They buy in quietly, wait for the perfect moment of weakness, then launch a hostile takeover. They strip what's valuable and liquidate the rest." Marcus's voice was grim. "They're corporate raiders, Isabella. And if they own eighteen percent of Sterling Industries, they're already positioning for the kill."
I stared out the rain-streaked window at the city my father had loved, the city where Sterling Industries had been a fixture for three generations. Somewhere out there was an enemy I'd never met, someone who'd been circling like a vulture while I'd been playing at academic theories.
"How long do we have?"
"I don't know. But Isabella?" Marcus's voice made me look at him again. "Whoever's behind Cross Enterprises, they know our vulnerabilities better than they should. This isn't just a hostile takeover. This is personal."
Personal. The word echoed in my head as the car navigated through traffic toward Sterling Tower, toward the office where I'd have to pretend I knew how to save a dying company. Personal meant this wasn't just about money or market position. Personal meant someone had a reason to want to destroy everything my father had built.
Personal meant I was walking into a war I didn't understand against an enemy I couldn't see.
As we pulled up to the imposing glass facade of Sterling Tower, I thought again of the man in the cemetery. The way he'd stood so still, so focused. The way he'd seemed to be smiling when I looked back.
Personal.
Tomorrow I would inherit Sterling Industries and all its problems. Tomorrow I would learn exactly how bad things really were. And tomorrow, I suspected, I would meet the enemy who'd been watching from the shadows.
I just had no idea that I already knew him.