Arthur Vance held up a black leather folder, damp from the storm.

“We are here to offer a resolution,” Vance said, his voice smooth and clinical.

“A resolution?” I asked, stepping out from behind Gabriel’s protective frame.

“You framed me for your financial fraud, Father.”

“You let Vanessa and Ethan ruin my life to cover your own tracks.”

“Vanessa is a fool,” my father said, dismissing his favorite daughter with a flick of his fingers.

“And Ethan is a weak thief who got greedy.”

“But you are an accountant, Claire, and you are going to fix this.”

I stared at him, incredulous at the sheer arrogance in his voice.

“Fix what?” I asked.

“Your testimony to the federal prosecutors,” he said.

He took a step closer, the scent of expensive cologne and damp wool filling the warm air of the penthouse.

“You will sign a statement declaring that the discrepancies in the foundation accounts were the result of your own clerical oversight.”

“I will do no such thing,” I said.

My father smiled, but his eyes remained dead.

“You will,” he said.