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"Okay," she says when I’m done. "We plan for the worst and make them choke on it."

"That’s your legal strategy? Make them choke?"

"I’m not the lawyer. I’m the one who makes sure the optics are so clean the legal strategy is irrelevant." She drops into the chair across from me. "Where the hell is Christian?"

"Probably parking. He drives like a man who’s never been late for anything in his life."

"He drives like a man who lets people merge."

"Same thing."

Christian walks in before she can escalate, tie loosened, briefcase in one hand, already looking like a man who canceled three meetings and would like to bill someone for the inconvenience. He drops into the other chair, opens his laptop, and says, "Start at the beginning."

I repeat everything Genevieve said. Word for word. Christian listens without interrupting, which is how I know he’s taking it seriously. His jaw tightens once, at marriage clause, and then settles.

"Do you want Jeremy looped in?" he asks.

"No. He’s been swamped keeping things running while I’ve been out. No point dragging him into this unless I have to."

Everly glances up from her phone. "Has he heard anything?"

"Not beyond the usual. A few texts. Nothing that flagged."

Christian nods once. "Leave it that way for tonight."

Then Everly takes over.

That’s what she does. You give Everly a crisis and she doesn’t panic—she produces. Within thirty seconds she’s texting three people at once and dictating strategy like she rehearsed it in the car.

"PR pulls every piece of honeymoon media we have," she says, thumbs moving. "Every candid, every pap shot, every frame of you two looking like you can’t keep your hands off each other."

Christian doesn’t look up from his screen. "And do what with it?"

"Place it. Everywhere. Local outlets. National if I can get it. Social. If the board wants to question whether this marriage is real, they can do it while Seattle is drowning in photos that say otherwise."

She’s in full war mode. I’ve seen this before—with Dad’s estate, with Colston’s thing last year, with the Zayne situation that almost went public. Clipped sentences. Narrowed focus. No wasted movement.

"The Pacific Northwest Monthly feature," she says. "I’m moving it up."

Christian glances at her. "Can you?"

"I can if the editor values access to this family more than she values her weekend." Everly looks at me. "By Monday morning, every screen in Seattle will show you two looking offensively in love."

A week ago that sentence would’ve been strategy.

Now it’s just true.

Something about that makes it harder to breathe than anything Genevieve said on the phone.

Christian closes one file and opens another.

"There’s something else."

Everly’s hands stop moving.

I look at him.

"If they believe the marriage was entered into fraudulently, they may request a broader verification review."