I took a breath. “Let him up,” I said. “But stay close.”
When Richard walked into my office, he wasn’t smiling.
He didn’t look smug.
He looked enraged.
“What did you do?” he demanded.
I stayed seated behind my desk.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I replied evenly.
“You know exactly what I mean,” he snapped. “My badge doesn’t work. The bank called me. I can’t access anything.”
“That’s correct,” I said.
He stared at me like I’d spoken a foreign language.
“I built this with you!” he shouted.
I leaned back in my chair and looked at him—not as my father. As a man standing in a room he had never owned.
“No,” I said quietly. “I built it. You just took credit.”
The sentence hit harder than I expected.
Because it wasn’t angry.
It was factual.
Richard’s face flushed red. “You ungrateful little—”
“Careful,” I interrupted, glancing toward the open door where security lingered within earshot.
His chest rose and fell heavily.
“You think you’re some big man now?” he sneered. “You’re nothing without this family.”
I almost laughed.
