I looked down at my hands.

They were steady now.

For three years, I had lived in that building’s shadow, terrified of Callum’s power.

Now, that power was evaporating like mist.

The driver pulled into the private underground parking deck.

The security guard at the gate did not ask for my ID.

He simply saluted and raised the barrier.

He knew who I was.

He also knew who was losing.

We took the private elevator straight to the fiftieth floor.

The elevator was lined with cherry wood and smelled of expensive leather.

When the doors opened, the lobby was dead silent.

The receptionist was not at her desk.

Her computer screen was active, showing a news feed with Callum’s face on it.

The headline read: *Prescott Global Facing Federal Fraud Probe.*

I walked down the long, carpeted hallway toward the boardroom.

The double doors of the boardroom were closed, but I could hear the murmur of voices inside.

I stood in the hallway, listening.

Then, the elevator at the end of the hall dinged.

The doors slid open, and Callum stepped out.

He was alone.