“Congratulations, Cassandra,” he said quietly. “You got them back. You got everything back.”

“Thank you, Marcus,” I said, my voice steady but soft.

I began gathering my documents, placing the manila folders into my leather briefcase.

Across the aisle, Gavin was standing up, his chest heaving as he stared at me.

“You think you can just take my company?” Gavin shouted, stepping out from behind his table. “I built that brand! My name is on the building!”

“Your name was on the letterhead, Gavin,” I said, snapping my briefcase shut. “But the code, the logistics, and the capital belonged to me.”

“You’re nothing without me,” he hissed, taking a step toward me.

The two federal agents moved quickly from the back of the room, intercepting him before he could reach the bar dividing the gallery.

“Mr. Rourke,” Agent Harris said, his hand resting near his belt. “We need you to step out into the hallway.”

Gavin looked at the agent, then at Sloane, who was busy putting her notebook into her bag, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Sloane,” Gavin said. “Call the PR firm. Get the crisis team on the phone.”