“Tell her she can’t come up, Brenda.”

“I tried, sir,” Brenda said, her voice shaking.

“But she brought her lawyer. They are on their way up the elevator right now.”

The double doors of the private elevator chimed.

I stood up from the leather sofa, my boots squeaking against the polished floorboards.

My father did not move from his desk, but his jaw tightened until a small muscle twitched in his cheek.

Ethan stepped slightly to the side, positioning himself between the desk and the entryway.

The heavy glass door to the executive suite swung open, and the sharp click of high heels echoed down the hallway.

My mother walked in first.

Her expensive wool coat was unbuttoned, swinging wildly as she marched toward us.

Behind her came a tall man in a tailored charcoal suit, clutching a thick leather briefcase.

“Daniel,” my mother said, her voice sharp enough to cut the quiet room.

She did not look at me.

She did not look at Ethan.

Her eyes were locked entirely on my father.

“Claire,” my father said, keeping his voice level and low.