Chapter 6 - The Return of the GhostThe legal injunction hit the business world like a magnitude-8 earthquake.

By Friday morning, The Wall Street Journal, Bloomberg, and the financial desks of every major news outlet were running emergency banner headlines: “KINGSLEY NORTH IPO HALTED: FOUNDING PATENT DISPUTE THREATENS MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR EMPIRE.”
Sienna Blake found out about the scandal not from Nolan, but when her luxury brand sponsors abruptly cancelled her upcoming endorsement contracts via frantic emails from their legal departments.
She stormed into the Buckhead penthouse living room, her face flushed with fury, holding her phone up like a weapon.
“Nolan! What is the meaning of this?!” she shrieked, shoving the phone toward his face. “Every magazine in New York is calling me asking if you’re a fraud! My agency just dropped my autumn campaign! Who the hell is Amelia Rowen?!”
Nolan, who hadn't slept in forty-eight hours, looked up from his whiskey glass with bloodshot, haunted eyes. The illusion of his invincibility was completely shattered; his tailored suit hung loosely on his frame, and the golden boy of Atlanta tech looked like a man standing on the edge of a precipice.
“Shut up, Sienna,” Nolan muttered, his voice dead and menacing.
“Don't you dare tell me to shut up!” she screamed, slamming her handbag onto the coffee table. “You told me she was a nobody! You told me she was out of your life for good! Now my career is collateral damage because your pathetic ex-wife decided to launch a hostile takeover!”
Before Nolan could fire back, his cell phone buzzed violently on the glass table.
It wasn't Marcus. It wasn't the SEC.
It was an unknown number with a local Atlanta area code.
With trembling fingers, Nolan swiped to answer.
“Nolan Kingsley,” he answered, his voice tight.
“Mr. Kingsley,” a calm, professional female voice spoke on the other end. Not Amelia, but her attorney, Harrison Vance. “My client is willing to grant you a brief, twenty-minute audience before our emergency injunction hearing on Monday morning. If you wish to understand the terms under which Kingsley North Group will be permitted to survive, you will be at Suite 400 of the Vance Legal Tower in downtown Atlanta at precisely ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Come alone.”
The call disconnected before Nolan could utter a single syllable of protest.
Sienna crossed her arms, sneering down at him. “Well? Who was that?”
“Pack your bags, Sienna,” Nolan whispered, staring blankly at the wall.
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“What? Are you insane? Where are we going?”
“Nowhere,” Nolan replied, standing up with a heavy, defeated sigh. “I’m going to meet my family.”
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