He scrambled around the side of the desk, his shoulder brushing against his father.

Richard watched him with a look of cold disgust, but he did not stop him.

Daniel opened the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out a small, electronic firebox.

He punched in the code with a shaking index finger, his nail scratching against the plastic keypad.

The latch clicked open, and he reached inside, pulling out a thick sheath of cream-colored paper.

It was the original, signed copy of our private repayment agreement, bearing his signature in black ink and mine in blue.

“If this contract doesn’t exist, you have no claim on the company assets,” Daniel said, his eyes wild as he looked around the room for a lighter or a shredder. “We can settle this as a simple divorce. No corporate fraud. No police.”

He gripped the top of the pages, his muscles tensing as he prepared to rip the document down the middle.

I stood perfectly still, watching the paper bend under his hands.

Outside, the rain began to beat harder against the glass, casting long, dark shadows across the office floor.