My father did not step back.

He stood straight, looking taller than he had in months.

“I’m finishing this, Claire,” my father said.

Claire looked at me, her eyes narrowing into cold slits.

“Sophie, get in the elevator,” she said. “We are going home.”

“No,” I said.

I stayed right beside my father, my boots planted on the tile floor.

Claire took a step toward us, her wet heels squeaking on the polished stone.

“You have no right to be in this building, Daniel,” she said. “The locks were changed for a reason.”

“I built this building,” my father said quietly.

Ethan came out of the glass-walled office holding a thick manila folder.

The paper looked heavy and white in his hands.

“I have the logs, Daniel,” Ethan said.

He stopped when he saw Claire, his expression turning cold.

Claire’s gaze shifted to the folder in Ethan’s hand.

She reached for it with a sudden, desperate movement.

“Give me that,” she said, her voice rising.

Ethan stepped back, holding the folder close to his chest.

“This belongs to the company, Claire,” Ethan said. “And you do not run it.”