Another guard grabbed my father, forcing him to his knees.

My father did not struggle.

He went down quietly, his eyes fixed on Charles.

“Hold them right there,” Charles ordered, his voice shaking with sudden power.

“If either of them moves a muscle, shoot them.”

Ryan stepped closer to me.

His breath smelled of stale whiskey and sour sweat.

He grabbed my jaw with his hand, squeezing tight.

“You thought you could ruin us?” Ryan spat.

“You are nothing without our name.”

I glared at him, refusing to let him see me cry.

The pain in my jaw was sharp, but I ignored it.

“Your name is about to mean nothing, Ryan,” I said.

He slapped me across the face.

The blow forced my head to the side.

My cheek burned, but I kept my eyes locked on his.

“That is enough, Ryan,” Charles said, turning back to the desk.

“We have work to do.”

Charles looked at the metal trash can filled with the printouts of the offshore accounts.

The lighter in his hand flickered again.

He held the yellow flame inches away from the paper.