“Securing my father’s legacy,” I said, walking toward the dock.

Cole Brantley slowly lowered the crowbar to the concrete.

“I told you this was a bad idea, Evan,” Brantley muttered, wiping rain from his forehead.

“Shut up, Cole,” Sloane snapped, though her voice trembled.

Malcolm climbed onto the loading dock, his boots squeaking on the wet concrete.

“I have a warrant to search this facility and seize any property belonging to the Hayes estate,” Malcolm said.

He pulled a folded document from his waterproof vest and held it up.

Evan tried to step between Malcolm and the metal door of the warehouse.

“This is a private logistics firm,” Evan said, his voice cracking.

“You have no right to be here.”

“Move aside, Mr. Vance,” Malcolm said.

I reached the top of the ramp and stood beside the deputy.

Inside the open door of the warehouse, row upon row of wooden crates bore the Hayes family crest.

My father’s signature was stamped in black ink on every single one of them.

“You took everything,” I whispered, looking at Evan.