He did not reach for the phone.

He looked up at Conrad, his jaw trembling.

“You,” Grant said.

Conrad did not look at his son.

He kept his eyes on me, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets.

“This is an extortion attempt,” Conrad said.

His voice was deep and steady, the same voice he used during press conferences.

“An extortion attempt?” Grant barked.

The sound was wet and sharp.

“She was my girlfriend, Dad,” Grant said. “You slept with her.”

Antoinette let out a low, shuddering groan.

She sank into the green leather armchair behind her.

Her eyes were fixed on the Persian rug beneath her feet.

“Antoinette, be quiet,” Conrad said.

“Do not tell her to be quiet!” Grant yelled.

He stepped toward his father, his chest heaving under his cashmere sweater.

“You took her from me,” Grant said. “You took everything.”

“I took nothing from you,” Conrad said coldly.

He finally turned his head to look at his son.

“She was a liability,” Conrad said. “I handled her.”

“By sleeping with her?” Grant’s voice rose to a shriek.