The private dining room at the *Onyx Club* was cleared of all staff. William sat at the table, his posture rigid. Across from him, Arthur Sterling sipped a glass of water, looking relaxed and lethal.
“You bought back the stock,” Arthur said, placing a heavy leather folio on the table. “Impressive. Expensive, but impressive. However, money is only one form of currency.”
Arthur slid the folio across the tablecloth. William opened it. He saw his father’s mugshot–one he had never seen before. He saw the forensic accounting of the stolen millions. He saw the letters from Lady Beatrice orchestrating the silence.
William felt the blood drain from his face. His greatest fear–that the rot in his family ran deep–was staring back at him in black and white.
“The public loves a tragedy,” Arthur mused. “But they hate a hypocrite. Imagine the headlines: *’The Croft Empire: Built on Theft and Lies.’* The stock you just saved would be worthless by morning. The board would remove you for moral turpitude.”
“What do you want?” William choked out, closing the folder.
“I want the company,” Arthur said coldly. “Sell me your controlling interest at a discount. Retire quietly. Or I release this file, and the name ‘Croft’ becomes synonymous with corruption. You have twenty-four hours.”