Flight 828 from London touched down at JFK International. In the arrivals hall, Isabella “Bella” Moretti adjusted her coat, trying to shield herself from the biting New York wind.
She was beautiful, fiery, and intelligent–an art dealer who had once loved Malcolm Fotheringham before his obsession with revenge consumed him.
She placed a protective hand over her stomach, where a slight bump was just beginning to show.
She checked her phone. The news alerts were everywhere: *CROFT TWIN TAKES OVER.* *WILLIAM CROFT OUSTED.*
“You idiot,” Isabella whispered, looking at Malcolm’s photo on the screen–the cold, triumphant sneer of the “Usurper”.
She had come to tell him about the heir. She had come to save him from himself. But seeing the headlines, she realized the man she loved was buried deep beneath layers of bitterness. He wouldn’t ask his brother for the help he needed. He would rather die than show weakness.
Isabella hailed a cab. She was the “Catalyst”, and she was bringing the one thing Malcolm couldn’t plan for: a future he might not live to see.