Martin took a step back, his hand hovering near the heavy leather bag.

“You can’t prove a single thing in a court of law,” Martin said.

“We already did,” I said, stepping out from behind my father’s shoulder.

I held up my phone, the screen displaying the saved audio file.

“The court is listening to the recording from Christmas Eve right now,” I said.

Martin’s eyes darted from me to my father, his arrogant composure finally beginning to crack.

His face turned a deep, angry red.

“You little brat,” he hissed, taking a sudden step toward me.

My father instantly stepped in front of me, his large frame blocking Martin completely.

“Don’t look at her,” my father said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“And don’t ever speak to her again.”

Martin sneered, but he backed off, his eyes darting toward the exit.

He reached down and zipped up the leather duffel bag with a sharp tug.

“It doesn’t matter what you think you have,” Martin said, lifting the bag by its straps.

“By the time your lawyers file anything, these plans will belong to Vanguard.”