I stared at him, the cold rain soaking through my formal jacket.

“The glass was on my desk,” I said. “It was my mug.”

“And who always takes the first sip of your drinks?” Richard asked.

His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated in the dim light.

The breath caught in my throat.

The memory flashed in my mind with sudden, agonizing clarity.

Madison laughing, grabbing my mug off the counter, taking a gulp before I could even sit down.

She had done it since we were children.

It was a running joke between us, a habit she never broke.

“Madison,” I whispered.

“She was the one asking questions,” Richard said, his teeth chattering. “She found the offshore accounts. She was going to ruin the entire operation.”

“She is your daughter,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“She is a liability,” Richard snapped, though his voice cracked on the last word. “Just like you.”

He looked past my shoulder, toward the warm light spilling from the open ballroom doors.

A figure was walking toward us through the rain.