He was holding a thick roll of blue paper, his fingers smudging the edges.

“Yes, the client list is in the bag too,” Martin said into the phone, his voice shaking with a mix of panic and greed.

“Just make sure Vanguard has the funds ready.”

He hung up the phone and shoved the blue roll into the duffel bag.

“Martin,” my father said, stepping out into the open hallway.

Martin jumped, dropping a stack of yellow folders onto the concrete.

Papers scattered across the floor like dry leaves.

He spun around, his face twisting into a sneer when he saw my father standing there.

“Daniel,” Martin spit, trying to smooth his expensive wool coat. “What are you doing down here?”

“Those files belong to this company, Martin,” my father said.

“This company wouldn’t exist without my family’s connections,” Martin said, his voice rising.

“You were just a builder in dirty boots until Claire brought you into our circle.”

“I built this company with my own hands, Martin,” my father said, his voice remarkably calm.

“And you stole millions from the people who trusted you.”