"After I paid for my father's bills and the Christmas cabin, my nephew shoved my 10-year-old onto the icy porch. Dad looked at her swollen shoulder and ordered, ""Apologize to Bryce right now. In this family, my grandson does whatever he wants.""

We spent the next two days in the comfort of the hotel, resting, eating good food, and letting Peyton recover from the physical shock of her injury. I arranged for a private car to drive us back to our city townhouse on Sunday evening, bypassing the public airport entirely.

When we arrived home, the gates to our gated community were reinforced with extra security personnel. Marcus had done a flawless job—there were strict instructions that no member of the Miller family was permitted within five hundred yards of the property.

On Monday morning, I dressed in a sharp, navy blue tailored suit, pulled my hair back into a tight bun, and drove to my corporate office building in the downtown financial district.

As my elevator opened on the tenth floor, my executive assistant, Rachel, met me at the doors with a grave look on her face.

"They're in the building lobby downstairs, Elena," Rachel whispered. "Your father, your brother Nelson, your Aunt Clara, and two of your uncles. They tried to get past the main security turnstiles forty minutes ago. When security stopped them, your father started shouting that he owns half of this firm."

"Does he now?" I asked, walking calmly toward my corner office.

"He told the building manager that he funded your startup capital ten years ago and that you’re legally obligated to support him," Rachel added, shaking her head in disbelief.

I sat down at my glass desk, opening my laptop. "Rachel, please call our head of corporate legal, Mr. Vance, and have him bring the original corporate formation documents to my office immediately."

Three minutes later, Mr. Vance walked in holding a thick leather binder.

"Elena," Vance said, sitting across from me. "I’ve already reviewed the security footage from downstairs. Your family is creating a public nuisance. Do you want me to execute the corporate trespass injunction?"

"Not yet," I said calmly. "I want to clarify something for the record, Vance. Did my father ever contribute a single dollar of capital to this firm?"

Vance opened the binder and flipped to the founding charter. "Absurd. Every dollar of initial capital came from your personal savings and a small business loan that you fully paid off five years ago. In fact, according to our ledger, over the last seven years, this firm has disbursed over $480,000 in 'family support allowances' directly to your father's personal account under your discretionary executive draw."

"$480,000," I repeated the number out loud. Nearly half a million dollars.

Half a million dollars spent buying the affection of a man who looked at my injured daughter and demanded she apologize to her abuser.

"Vance," I said, my voice cutting through the room like a steel blade. "I want an immediate audit of every payment ever made to my father, brother, or any affiliated accounts. If there is a single tax inconsistency or unauthorized charge on those corporate accounts from when Frank held an guest card, I want it flagged and handed directly to the district attorney."