“You fool,” she hissed.

“You can’t buy me, Margaret,” Thomas said. “And you can’t buy your way out of what your son did.”

“Ryan is a Parker,” she said, her voice shaking. “We do not lose to people like you.”

“You already lost,” Thomas said.

He turned his back on her and began walking toward the lobby doors.

Margaret stared at his retreating back, her hands clenched into fists.

She stomped her foot, splashing dirty water onto her designer trousers, before turning and getting back into her Mercedes.

The engine roared, and the car sped out of the garage, its tires screaming on the wet concrete.

Laura’s silver SUV immediately pulled out of the parking space and drove toward me.

She stopped the car at the bottom of the ramp and rolled down the window.

Her face was flushed, her eyes wide.

“I got it,” she whispered, holding up her phone. “Every single word. The video is perfectly clear.”

Thomas joined us a second later, his face grim but determined.

“Are you alright, Emma?” he asked, looking down at me.