He looked at Charles, then at Nathaniel.

“If I go down, I am taking this entire family with me,” he said.

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small, black USB drive.

“You think the public will care about the details of my ledger?” Dunleavy asked.

“They will only see the headline.”

“The Graves family starves out poor tenants to build luxury towers.”

Nathaniel took a step toward him, his expression cold.

“The truth is on that screen, Arthur,” Nathaniel said. “You acted alone.”

“The press won’t care about that,” Dunleavy laughed, a harsh, dry sound.

“I have twelve years of emails, highly edited, ready to go to every major news outlet.”

“By tomorrow morning, your stock will be in the toilet.”

Charles Graves shifted his weight, his grip tightening on his cane.

“Nathaniel,” Charles said quietly. “We must think about the company.”

“No, Father,” Nathaniel said, his voice firm.

“We are not negotiating with him.”

Dunleavy stood up from the bench, clutching his briefcase.

“I have a contact at the Daily Chronicle,” Dunleavy said, holding up the USB drive.