“I don’t care about the stock,” I said. “I want my family’s legacy back.”

We walked out into the cold afternoon air, the snow dusting the collar of my coat.

As we reached the curb, my phone began to vibrate in my pocket.

I pulled it out and saw an unknown number.

I pressed the screen to my ear.

“Claire,” Preston’s voice came through, remarkably calm, devoid of the anger from our last call.

“I have nothing to say to you, Preston,” I said, looking down the street for a taxi.

“You might want to listen,” he said. “My lawyers are drafting something right now.”

“I don’t care about your lawyers,” I said.

“You will,” Preston said. “I’m prepared to make this very easy for you, Claire. A quiet exit.”

He paused, the sound of traffic faint on his end.

“More money than you could spend in a lifetime,” he added.

“And what is the catch?” I asked.

“You sign a document,” Preston said. “You agree that you never saw any files. You agree that Hayes Enterprises is completely clean.”

I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white.