He paused to glance at Marcus, sweating through his suit.

“You performed abysmally today, Marcus. I pay you exorbitant fees to make problems disappear quietly, not usher them into my boardroom for a public spectacle.”

“Make problems disappear?” Preston roared, taking a step toward his father.

“That’s my child. That’s your granddaughter.”

“That,” Conrad sneered, pointing the cane at Grace, “is a complication.

A biological error, one we’ve just successfully mitigated.” He tapped the leather folder on the table — the one Marcus had been guarding.