“It was a business decision,” the Colonel said.

My mother stood up so quickly her crystal water glass tipped over, spilling water across the linen tablecloth.

She ignored the spill, her eyes locked on the documents in my hands.

“This dinner is over,” my mother declared. “Grace, hand me those papers immediately.”

“No,” I said, clutching the folder closer to my chest. “This is evidence.”

“It is gossip and old news,” my mother said, her voice trembling with a strange, desperate rage.

She stepped toward me, her heels clicking loudly on the hardwood.

I noticed her eyes dart toward the grand stone fireplace at the end of the dining room.

The logs inside were crackling, throwing orange light across the room.

“We have a merger to think about,” my mother said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “The Mercer name is tied to the Whitaker foundation now.”

I stared at her, a cold realization settling in my stomach.

She wasn’t surprised by the name on the paper.

“You knew,” I said.

My mother stopped walking.

Her face tightened, the perfect makeup failing to hide the sudden tension in her jaw.