“Without Whitmore Development, this is just a pile of dirt by the beach.”

He turned his head toward Caleb Rhodes, searching for support.

Caleb did not smile.

He did not nod.

He sat completely still, his grey eyes fixed on the forged signatures on the screen.

Lila grabbed Grant’s sleeve, her manicured nails digging into the dark wool.

“Grant, do something,” she whispered, her eyes darting toward the exit doors.

“Tell them it’s not true.”

Grant pulled his arm away from her.

He was looking at the screen, his mouth slightly open.

The realization was finally hitting him.

The empire he had built on my back was cracking under his feet.

I stood my ground, my heels planted firmly on the stage.

The microphone felt heavy in my hand.

I had spent years in the background, drawing the blueprints while Grant took the handshakes.

Now, every eye in the room was on me.

And behind me, the evidence of his betrayal was glowing in forty-foot letters.

Grant took a deep breath, his shoulders squaring as he tried to find his footing.