The old clock in Andrew’s study struck three times, each chime cutting through the quiet.
Andrew leaned back against the desk, silver cuff links catching the lamplight. He tapped his watch with a slow click of his nail. “Four seconds, Tamara. Once five hits, my boys won't be polite anymore.
My knuckles whitened around the metal drive in my pocket. Inside lay years of my father’s work the paper trail that proved Andrew had set up the fake transfers, the only thing left that could clear Julian's name.
Julian stepped forward, blocking me. A muscle worked in his jaw. “Leave her out of this, Dad. You want the drive? Then take it.”
“You don’t have anything left to trade, son,” Andrew said, voice smooth. “Five.”
“No!”
I shoved past Julian’s arm, pulled the drive out, and slammed it onto the
