She had called him a worthless, broke handyman who couldn’t even provide a decent meal.

She had turned to me and told me I was just as useless as he was.

My grandfather, Martin, had been there too, laughing and drinking expensive scotch he had brought in a flask.

They had no idea I had been standing in the dark hallway with my phone in my hand, the voice recorder active.

I had kept that audio file saved in my private drive for months, never showing it to anyone.

“We can’t let her do this, Dad,” I said.

My father looked at me, a sad smile on his face.

“We don’t have much of a choice, sweetheart,” he said.

“If I fight her on this, your name will be all over the news.”

“They will drag you through the courts, and I won’t let them do that to you.”

“I’d rather lose the company than let them hurt you.”

“There has to be another way,” I said, my voice steady.

Before my father could answer, the door to the conference room opened.