Chapter 3

The moment the Records door opened, the smell of fresh paint hit me.

Tessa was inside, directing contractors as they dismantled a glass display cabinet.

It held awards from the company's early years, my mother's handwritten notes, and the prototype of her first product.

When the company relocated, Grant had promised those pieces would be preserved permanently.

"Stop."

Tessa waved a renovation order at me.

"This room is being converted into a lounge for the funding team. Useless junk has to go."

"Those are part of the company's historical archive."

"Grant already approved the renovation."

A contractor pried open the cabinet. The prototype rolled off its stand, hit the floor, and cracked.

I bent to retrieve it, but Tessa planted the heel of her shoe on top.

"You're really this upset over a piece of garbage?"

I caught her by the ankle and shoved her foot away. She stumbled into the edge of a desk. By the time she looked up, she already had tears ready.

"Claire, I'm only following orders. Why would you attack me?"

Grant walked in at that exact moment and caught her by the arm.

"What happened?"

"She stepped on something my mother left me."

Tessa lowered her voice. "I told you the old display case was blocking the new filing system. I didn't know the prototype belonged to Claire's mother."

"I told you it was part of the historical archive."

"You never said it would break if someone stepped on it."

Amusement flashed in her eyes.

I lifted my hand to slap her, but Grant seized my wrist.

"Enough. You've been in Records for less than a day, and you're already using your mother's belongings as an excuse to obstruct the renovation?"

In his eyes, even my mother's legacy was just another weapon I might use in an office power struggle.

"Make her apologize."

"I don't have time to argue over a broken piece of equipment."

Grant took the prototype from me and calmly dropped it in the trash.

"If all it does is interfere with the filing system, there's no reason to keep it."

It struck the side of the bin and shattered completely.

During my mother's final year, her fingers had grown stiff from illness, but she had kept refining that design over and over.

She told me that when I took over the company one day, I could look at it and remember why we had started.

"Pick it up."

"Stop making a scene."

Tessa tugged at his sleeve. "I'll get it for her."

She walked over to the trash can and knocked her coffee into it.

The dark liquid flooded the bottom, soaking through my mother's handwritten notes.

"I'm so sorry. I guess now they're really beyond saving."

I shoved her aside and plunged my bare hands into the bin.

Hot coffee ran down my reddened wrists. People around me laughed and took pictures.

Grant stared at the backs of my hands. In the end, all he asked was, "Are you finished?"

I clutched the soaked pages to my chest.

"Yes."

This time, I truly was.

As I left, I heard Grant snap at the people behind me.

"Put your phones away. Anyone who takes another picture answers to HR."

Once, that belated defense would have softened me.

Not anymore.

I delivered the damaged papers to a restoration specialist. Minutes later, the auditor my uncle had hired sent me a message.

Three original receipts are missing from Records. They may have been relocated.

I replied, Check the vendors registered under Tessa Morgan's name.

When I got home that night, Grant was sitting at the dining table.

Dinner was waiting beside the voting proxy.

"Eat first."

I remained standing.

He pushed a pen toward me. "Sign it."

"And if I don't?"

"The renewal contracts for your mother's three patents are still held by the company. If the funding fails, those unprofitable legacy projects will be the first things I cut."

He knew exactly what mattered to me. That was why he always knew where to drive the blade.

"Apologize to Tessa in public at tomorrow night's gala. Then sign the proxy. Once the gala is over, I'll keep the patents active."

He slid an invitation toward me.

Tessa was named as his date. My name appeared at the very bottom of the event staff list.

"Is this a negotiation?"

"It's your last chance."

He placed a tube of burn ointment beside the invitation.

"Take care of your hands. Don't show up looking injured."

I nodded. "All right."

His expression eased. He lifted a hand toward my hair.

I stepped aside. His hand remained suspended for two seconds before falling.

"Don't be late tomorrow."

After he left, I took the voice recorder that had been running out of my sleeve.

At the same moment, my phone lit up.

The auditor had sent me a wire transfer record.

In three months, a shell company registered to Tessa had received $47 million from HayesTech.

Grant Hayes had personally approved the final transfer.