Vanessa Hale was walking a few yards ahead of us, her phone already pressed to her ear.

“Dad,” Vanessa was saying, her voice shaking but angry. “I need you to call the commissioner. Right now.”

She stopped near the elevators, looking at us as we approached.

For a second, our eyes met.

There was no anger in her face anymore, only a deep, humiliated shock.

She lowered her phone slightly as I reached her.

“He told me you were unstable, Emily,” Vanessa said, her voice barely audible.

“He lies about everything, Vanessa,” I said as the elevator doors slid open.

Nathan and I stepped inside, and the doors closed, cutting off the image of Vanessa standing alone in the hallway.

The descent to the basement garage felt like it took hours.

“How long will it take us to get to John C. Tune?” I asked, my hands clenching into fists.

“Fifteen minutes with traffic,” Nathan said, checking his watch. “But my lead security officer, Miller, is already at the airfield boundary.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to the dim, concrete garage.