"Put the file on the desk, Elena," I ordered quietly.
She shook her head, a frantic, almost pleading look entering her eyes.
"Marcus, please. You have to leave. If Richard finds you in here..."
"If Richard finds me in my own company, in my dead son's office, he will have to look me in the eye," I interrupted, closing the distance until I was standing directly across the desk from her.
"Put the damn file down."
Before she could move, the heavy mahogany door behind me opened with a smooth, silent sweep.
"There's no need to raise your voice to the staff, Marcus."
The voice was smooth, cultured, and perfectly calm.
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
I slowly pivoted on my heel, bracing myself for the sight of the man I had once called a brother.
Richard Sterling stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the doorframe.
He wore a bespoke charcoal suit that likely cost more than a car.
His silver hair was perfectly styled, and his posture radiated absolute control.
He smiled, but the warmth did not reach his cold, calculating gray eyes.
"My god, look at you," Richard said softly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.
He looked me up and down, taking in the dirty boots, the faded brown coat, and the wild white beard.
"You look like a ghost, old friend. I heard there was a disturbance in the lobby. I didn't believe it was you."
I didn't smile back.
"I'm not dead yet, Richard. Though I imagine that's an inconvenience for you."
Richard chuckled, a dry, humorless sound, as he walked slowly toward the desk.
He didn't even look at Elena, who was standing frozen like a statue, still clutching the red folder to her chest.
"It's been five years, Marcus," Richard said, his voice dropping into a tone of synthetic sympathy.
"You shouldn't be here. The memories in this room... it's bad for your health. You need to go back to Montana. Find your peace."
"I haven't found peace in five years," I replied, placing my battered leather bag onto the pristine surface of David's desk.
"So I decided to come back and look for the truth instead."
Richard stopped moving.
A subtle, dangerous shift occurred in his posture.
The relaxed, welcoming facade dropped away, leaving only the ruthless corporate shark beneath.
"The truth is that David drove too fast on a wet road, Marcus. We mourned him. We buried him. We moved on. The company moved on."
He reached inside the breast pocket of his expensive suit and pulled out a sleek, folded legal document.
He tossed it onto the desk between us.
It slid across the polished wood, coming to a stop against my leather bag.
"I was going to mail this to your cabin next week," Richard said coldly.
"It's a buyout offer. A massive one. Ninety million dollars for your remaining founder's shares. You sign that, you walk out of here a very rich man, and you never have to think about this company, or this room, ever again."
I looked down at the document.
I didn't touch it.
I simply leaned forward, squinting at the fine print visible on the front page.
My eyes locked onto a specific detail near the bottom margin.
It was a transfer deed referencing David's old operational shares, shifting them completely into Richard's private trust.
But what made the blood freeze in my veins was the date stamped next to David's digital signature.
The document had been signed on November 12th.
David died in the crash on November 9th.
I stared at the date, a sickening wave of realization washing over me.
David hadn't signed this.
Someone had forged his authorization after he was already in the morgue, rushing to secure his assets before I returned from the funeral.
"You forged his signature," I whispered, looking up at Richard's perfectly calm face.
Richard didn't flinch.
He simply adjusted his cuffs, his expression completely unreadable.
"David made mistakes, Marcus," Richard said softly. "Financial mistakes. He was moving company money into offshore accounts. He was drowning in debt. I covered it up to protect his legacy. To protect you."
I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my chest.
My son? A thief?
I looked quickly at Elena.
She refused to meet my eyes, staring down at the carpet.
The pieces began to violently snap together in my mind.
David was stealing from the company.