“Leave it,” Ethan said.

The next document appeared on the screen.

It was a ledger showing offshore bank transfers to a city building inspector who had signed off on a faulty warehouse structure—the very warehouse where I had worked.

The signature at the bottom of the authorization was Richard Harrison’s.

The crowd began to whisper loudly now.

“Is this a joke?” a man in the front row asked aloud.

“What is the meaning of this?” another voice called out.

Richard gripped the sides of the podium so hard his knuckles turned white.

“This is a fabricated attack,” Richard said, his voice echoing over the audio recording.

“We are being targeted by extortionists.”

Ethan stepped out from behind the pillar and walked to the edge of the balcony overlooking the atrium.

He gripped the metal railing.

“It’s not a fabrication, Father,” Ethan called out.

His voice was clear, carrying over the whispers of the crowd.

Every head in the atrium turned upward to look at him.

“Ethan,” Eleanor gasped, her hand flying to her throat.

“What are you doing?”

“I am showing them the truth,” Ethan said.