“You’re afraid,” I said.

“I’m offering you a way out, Claire,” he said, his voice dropping to a low hiss. “Don’t be foolish.”

He hung up before I could reply.

I stood on the snowy sidewalk, the cold air burning my lungs.

My phone buzzed again, this time with an email notification from an encrypted address.

The subject line read: *Strictly Confidential – Settlement Terms.*

I tapped the notification, my thumb trembling slightly as the document loaded.

The first paragraph detailed a lump-sum payment of thirty million dollars.

My breath hitched as I scrolled down to the non-disclosure clause.

The penalty for speaking to any regulatory agency was the immediate forfeiture of all assets.

Suddenly, a black town car pulled up to the curb beside me, its tinted window slowly rolling down.

Inside the heated cabin sat Harold Vance, Preston’s chief corporate counsel.

He looked immaculate, his silver hair brushed back, a thick charcoal wool overcoat draped over his broad shoulders.

“Get in, Claire,” Vance said, his voice flat and professional.

The leather seats smelled of expensive polish and old paper.