David’s phone rang.

It was Marcus.

David took a deep breath, steadied his shaking hands, and answered the call. He put it on speakerphone.

“Did you get my email, Dave?” Marcus asked. He sounded incredibly smug.

“You can’t do this, Marcus,” David said, forcing his voice to sound panicked and weak. He needed Marcus to think he was winning.

“I already did,” Marcus laughed. “The board is terrified. They saw your kid throw a violent fit tonight, and they saw you physically attack me when I tried to help your wife. The narrative is already set. You’re having a breakdown.”

“I have the original paperwork,” David said. “I can prove it’s fraudulent.”

“By the time you get a judge to look at that wet, torn piece of garbage, I’ll have drained the offshore accounts and relocated the corporate headquarters,” Marcus replied smoothly. “Sarah and I have been planning this for a year. You lost.”

“What do you want?” David asked.

“I want the original document,” Marcus said, his voice turning cold. “I need the physical copy to transfer the real estate deeds. Bring the papers to my office at headquarters tomorrow morning at 8:00 AM. Just you and me. You sign the severance agreement quietly, and I’ll make sure you get a nice little allowance to take care of your crazy kid.”

“And if I don’t?” David asked.

“Then I release a statement to the press tomorrow at 9:00 AM saying you attacked your wife and have been placed under psychiatric hold,” Marcus threatened. “Your reputation will be completely destroyed.”

David looked at the paused video on his screen. He looked at the crystal-clear footage of Marcus and Sarah kissing. He looked at the face of the locksmith, clear as day.

“Okay,” David said softly. “Tomorrow at 8:00 AM. In the main boardroom.”

“Smart choice, big brother,” Marcus sneered.

The line went dead.

David set the phone down. The fear and panic completely vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, calculating rage.

Marcus thought he had outsmarted him. Marcus thought he held all the cards.

He had no idea that David had just recorded the entire phone call. He had no idea about the hidden camera in the office. And he had no idea what David was about to do.

David picked up his phone and dialed his personal lawyer, Robert.

“Robert,” David said the moment the man answered. “Wake up the head of corporate security. I don’t care what time it is. I need the main boardroom completely wired for sound and video by 7:00 AM tomorrow.”

“David? What’s going on?” Robert asked, his voice thick with sleep.

“Marcus and Sarah just tried to steal the company,” David said, his eyes locked on the ruined blue document on his desk. “But tomorrow morning, I’m going to let them dig their own graves.”

— CHAPTER 3 —

At 7:45 the next morning, the glass doors of Vance Enterprises on the fourteenth floor were completely unlocked.

David Vance sat alone at the far end of the thirty-foot mahogany boardroom table. The morning sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Chicago, cutting long, sharp shadows across the polished wood.

In front of David sat a single manila folder. Beside it rested a digital voice recorder and a cup of black coffee that had already gone cold.

The heavy frosted-glass doors of the boardroom swung open precisely at 7:58 AM.

Marcus walked in first. He wore a bespoke charcoal suit, his posture completely relaxed, a leather briefcase swinging loosely at his side. Sarah followed half a step behind him. She had replaced her ruined white silk dress with an expensive cream-colored pantsuit, her hair pulled back into a sleek, severe ponytail. Her eyes were hidden behind dark designer sunglasses until she stepped into the room and pushed them onto her head.

She looked confident. But David noticed the way her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her handbag.

“Look at you, Dave,” Marcus said, pulling out a leather executive chair across from David and sitting down. He propped his polished shoes onto the edge of the table. “Right on time. I like seeing you obedient. It’s a good look for a retired man.”

Sarah pulled out the chair next to Marcus, crossing her legs and looking down her nose at David.

“Where’s Leo?” Sarah asked, her voice laced with mock sympathy. “Did you leave him with a sitter, or did you finally have the good sense to check him into a psychiatric clinic?”

David didn’t answer. He didn’t blink. He just stared at his younger brother.

Marcus unzipped his briefcase and pulled out a stack of paper. He slid it across the table toward David.

“Here’s the deal,” Marcus said, tapping the papers with a gold pen. “This is a full voluntary resignation from the board and an executive release of all corporate voting shares to me. In exchange, Sarah and I will drop the formal declaration of mental incompetence. We won’t file the medical proxy with the state licensing board, which means you get to keep your name off the public registry of incapacitated adults.”

“And the severance?” David asked quietly.

“Two hundred and fifty thousand a year, paid quarterly from a secondary trust,” Marcus replied with a cold grin. “Contingent on a strict non-disclosure agreement. You don’t speak to the board. You don’t speak to our investors. You take your kid, you buy a quiet little house somewhere out in Indiana, and you disappear.”

“You think of everything, don’t you?” David said.

“I have to,” Marcus leaned in, his smile vanishing, replaced by hard, sharp ambition. “You’ve been running this place like a family charity for ten years, Dave. You’re too soft. You won’t make the tough cuts. You won’t move operations offshore. Sarah and I are taking this company to the national market. We don’t have room for dead weight.”

“And you, Sarah?” David turned his eyes to his wife. “Four years. Was any of it real?”

Sarah rolled her eyes and gave a quiet, exasperated laugh. “Oh, please, David. Don’t be pathetic. You were an easy mark. A grieving widower with a traumatized little boy who needed a mother. You gave me an unlimited black card and a mansion, but you were boring. You spent every weekend doing inventory and looking over balance sheets while Marcus actually understood what this life could be.”

“I see,” David said.

“Enough reminiscing,” Marcus snapped, tapping the table. “Where is the original blue deed transfer? The one Leo soaked last night.”

David reached into his manila folder. He pulled out the wrinkled, water-stained blue document with the torn edges and laid it flat in the center of the table.

Marcus’s eyes lit up with raw greed. He reached out to snatch it.

David placed his palm firmly over the center of the paper, pinning it down.

“Before you take this,” David said, “I want to understand how you planned to execute it. The signature on this deed is three years old. But the notary stamp on the final page was dated yesterday.”

Marcus scoffed. “Who cares? It has the state seal on it. It’s legally active.”