“Your board of directors will oust you by the end of the week.”

She leaned over the table, her face inches from my father’s.

“You have twenty-four hours to withdraw those audit reports and sign the divorce settlement,” she whispered.

“If you don’t, the first press release goes out tomorrow morning at nine.”

She looked at me one last time, her expression cold and empty.

“Enjoy your afternoon, Sophie,” she said.

She turned and walked toward the double doors of the conference room.

Vance looked at my father, then at the binder, and finally back to my father.

“We will be in touch, Mr. Whitaker,” Vance said quietly.

He picked up his briefcase and hurried after her, leaving the binder on the table.

The heavy glass doors swung shut, and the room fell into a suffocating silence.

The hum of the building’s ventilation system seemed to grow louder.

My father slowly let his head fall into his hands.

His shoulders, usually so broad and strong, looked incredibly small.

“Dad,” I said softly.

He didn’t look up immediately.

When he did, his eyes were red-rimmed and filled with a terrible guilt.