ROXIE

The air in the German boardroom felt heavy, smelling of rain and the bitter espresso the executives had left on the slate table.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a loud erratic rhythm that made my ears ring. I stood a half-step behind Garrison, my fingers curled tightly into the palms of my hands to keep them from trembling.

The oversized charcoal blazer I wore felt like a shield, but looking out at the rows of stone-faced German port directors, I knew my small-town boutique background offered no protection here. This was a completely different kind of battlefield.

"This is an outrage," Sophie Caldwell spoke, her voice dropping into...