He leaned over the mahogany desk, his palms flat on the leather surface.

“You have nothing they need, Marissa,” Ryker said, his voice dangerously quiet.

A sharp, mocking laugh came through the speaker.

“I have the law on my side, Mr. Steel,” she said.

“They are my late husband’s children, and you are holding them against my will.”

I stepped closer to the desk, my hands clenching into fists against my sides.

“You left them at O’Hare,” I said, unable to keep quiet.

“You abandoned them at gate seventeen.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, long enough for the sound of static to hiss through the speaker.

“An administrative oversight,” Marissa said, her tone smooth and entirely unbothered.

“A misunderstanding with their nanny, which I am already correcting.”

“The police have the security footage of you walking away,” Ryker said.

“Then let them show it to a judge,” she replied.

“But while they do, ask yourself how the press will treat a billionaire who keeps young children locked in his mansion.”

She hung up.