She kept her eyes fixed on Derek’s face.

“Your father and I have tolerated this little phase long enough,” she said to him.

“You have a degree from Stanford, Derek.”

“You belong in an office, not playing mechanic in a dusty yard.”

Arthur Mitchell cleared his throat, looking down at his polished loafers.

“Helen, perhaps we should discuss this inside,” my father murmured, his voice barely audible.

“There is nothing to discuss, Arthur,” she replied, her eyes never wavering from Derek.

Dr. Aris coughed into his hand, looking uncomfortable.

Two of the other board members began whispering to each other, their eyes moving between my mother and the microgrid prototype.

Priya, who had been standing near the control panel, took a step forward, her tablet held tightly against her chest.

I caught her eye and gave a small, barely perceptible shake of my head.

“Derek,” I said, walking over to the edge of the safety zone. “The load bank needs to be secured before we start the generator.”

Derek looked at me, then at the wrench in his hand, and then at our mother.