Tactical patience, I reminded myself. Let them feel powerful.

“Right away,” I said, without inflection.

I walked to a service station, took a crisp white towel, returned, and knelt beside the table. I wiped the wine, the red staining the white cloth like blood, while Vance’s bodyguard bored a gaze into the back of my neck.

“Good boy,” Vance murmured, sipping his water. He looked at my father. “You have him well-trained, Robert. Shame the rest of your business isn’t so obedient.”

“We’re fixing that, Richard,” my father pleaded, sweat beading on his forehead. “The paperwork’s ready. We just need Michael’s signature.”

I stood, the soaked towel in my hand. I’d heard enough. The transfer of the company was happening tonight — right under my nose.