Martin lowered his voice. “Listen to me carefully. You may own the company, but you don’t know everything happening inside it.”

That got my attention.

“What does that mean?”

He chuckled, but it sounded strained. “You think because your name is on the building, every door opens for you?”

“Martin.”

“You should have stayed the handyman.”

The line went dead.

I sat very still.

Sophie noticed the change in my face. “Dad?”

“It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t.

Because Martin wasn’t smart enough to bluff well, but he was arrogant enough to reveal something by accident.

I called Helen immediately.

“Pull every file Martin accessed in the last twelve months,” I said.

“We already started.”

“Go deeper. Personal devices, vendor communications, shared drives, deleted emails. Especially anything connected to subcontractor bids.”

Helen paused. “You think there’s more?”

“I think he just told me there is.”

By the next morning, the Collins family had turned from shock to war.

Claire arrived at our house at 9:30 a.m. with Linda and two of her brothers standing behind her like bodyguards.

I had already changed the locks.

Sophie watched from the staircase as Claire pounded on the front door.

“This is my home!” she shouted.

I opened the door but didn’t step aside.

Claire looked different in daylight. Less polished. Her hair was pulled back too tightly, her eyes swollen from lack of sleep. Linda stood behind her in a fur-lined coat, glaring as if the entire neighborhood had personally insulted her.

“I need my things,” Claire said.

“You can schedule a time through my attorney.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“No. Ridiculous was serving divorce papers before dessert.”

Linda pointed a manicured finger at me. “You vindictive little man.”

I looked at her. “Good morning, Linda.”

“You destroyed this family.”

“No. I stopped funding it.”

Tyler pushed forward. “You think this is funny?”

“Not at all.”

“You fired me by courier like I was some stranger.”

“You used a company card to buy Bengals playoff tickets and marked it as client outreach.”

His mouth snapped shut.

Brandon stepped beside him. “That was one mistake.”

“You charged a family vacation rental to a project account.”

Brandon’s face went red.

Linda looked between them. “What is he talking about?”

Neither answered.

Claire’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been spying on us?”

“I’ve been employing you.”

She stepped closer. “I want Sophie out here.”

“I want to talk to her.”

“I’m still her stepmother.”

“You stopped being anything to her the moment you watched your father lock her outside.”

Claire flinched, but recovered quickly. “You’re poisoning her against me.”

From the staircase, Sophie spoke.

“You did that yourself.”

Everyone turned.

She stood halfway down, wrapped in a gray hoodie, her hair tied loosely behind her head. She looked tired, but her voice was steady.

Claire softened her expression instantly. It was almost impressive.

“Sophie, honey—”

“Don’t.”

Claire froze.

Sophie came down two more steps. “I heard everything that night. I heard Grandpa call me baggage. I heard you laugh when Uncle Brandon said Dad probably couldn’t afford a lawyer. I heard you tell Grandma I was dramatic.”

Claire opened her mouth, but Sophie continued.

“You never wanted me there. I know that now.”

Linda scoffed. “Teenagers are so sensitive.”

I stepped forward. “Leave.”

Claire’s face hardened again. “This isn’t over.”

“No,” I said. “It isn’t.”

They left with threats, slammed car doors, and one final look from Martin, who had waited across the street in his Mercedes like a general refusing to step onto a battlefield he might lose.

That afternoon, Helen came to my office with a folder and a face I didn’t like.

“We found something,” she said.

I shut the door.

She placed the folder on my desk. “Three years ago, Whitaker started losing bids on municipal contracts by extremely narrow margins. We assumed competitors got aggressive.”

“I remember.”

“Someone inside was leaking bid numbers.”

I didn’t move.

Helen opened the folder. “Not directly from your account. From project folders accessed by Martin, Brandon, and a subcontractor liaison named Peter Vale.”

“Peter Vale doesn’t work for us anymore.”

“No,” Helen said. “He works for Arcstone Development.”

Arcstone.

My biggest competitor.

The company that had beaten us on seven major bids in three years.