“You are fired, Arthur,” I said.

The line was silent for a moment.

“Daniel, be reasonable,” Arthur said.

“You cannot dissolve our agreement without the board’s approval.”

“I just did,” I said.

“Pack your things and leave the firm’s offices by tonight.”

“If I see your name on any Whitmore legal document again, I will sue you for breach of fiduciary duty.”

“You will ruin yourself,” Arthur said, his voice dropping.

“The board will strip you of your title by Monday.”

“Then they can try,” I said.

I hung up and threw the phone onto the passenger seat.

I put the car in gear and drove down the long, winding driveway.

The wet gravel crunched under the tires.

I looked in the rearview mirror at my sons.

They were looking at the trees passing by.

They did not know about the millions of dollars at stake.

They only knew that the woman who had cared for them was in a hospital bed.

We drove through the iron gates of the estate.

The city skyline appeared in the distance, shrouded in fog.