Brandon doesn’t wait. The moment the evidence finishes printing, he grabs the papers with a trembling hand and heads straight for the Hughes tower. Julia calls after him, but he doesn’t slow, not even when Arthur says, “I’ll go with you.”
He shakes his head. “This is mine.” The elevator doors close around him, sealing in a storm that’s been building for years.
Mr. Hughes is already in his office when Brandon walks in—spread of morning newspapers, black coffee untouched, three screens lit with financial reports. He doesn’t look up.
“So,” his father says calmly, “you’ve finally remembered where you belong.”
Brandon tosses the printed sheets onto the desk. They scatter like ash—transaction logs, timestamps, signatures.
“No,” Brandon says, breath shaking. “I remembered who I refuse to bec
