Chapter 3

I gripped the windowsill. It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over me from head to toe.

Rapist. Marta had called me a rapist.

Those words, coming from her mouth, hurt worse than the moment the judge read the verdict in that courtroom.

"Marta..." My voice shook. "What did you just say?"

Her eyes flickered for a split second. Like she'd heard herself and knew it was too far.

But she lifted her chin and didn't back down.

"I—I'm not wrong! You forced yourself on Mom back then!"

"Yeah, Mom made mistakes too. But you're no saint either!"

Not a saint.

I had raised her for twenty years, and in the end, to her, I was just a rapist.

I looked at her. And suddenly I had nothing left to say.

I thought about the time she was three, burning up with a high fever. I'd carried her on my back and run two kilometers to the hospital. Lost a shoe along the way. Cut the bottom of my foot open on broken glass. Left a trail of blood all the way through the ER doors. She kept murmuring "Daddy" in her daze, and I kept saying "I'm here, I'm here" the whole way.

I thought about when she was seven and some kid at school called her a motherless girl. The next day I went straight to her teacher, then called every single parent. That kid apologized to her in front of the whole class. She came home that afternoon, wrapped her arms around me and said, "You're the best dad ever."

I thought about the day she turned eighteen and went off to college. I helped her set up her dorm room, made her bed, bought her lunch. When I was leaving, she grabbed the hem of my jacket and said, "Dad, I'm going to miss you." I cried the whole ride home.

I thought about three days ago, the moment I found out the company was going under.

The first thing I thought of wasn't the eighty million dollars.

It was her.

I'd stayed up all night pushing through her visa paperwork. Transferred every last dollar I had into her bank account. Made sure she wouldn't be touched by any of it.

And now she was standing here pointing at me, calling me a rapist.

I pressed my hand to my chest. The pain felt like someone dragging a knife through me.

"So you've made up your mind. You're going to forgive her. Is that it?"

Marta looked at me. She hesitated for just a second.

Then she nodded.

"Fine."

I stepped back.

"Go with her then."

"I spent all these years raising a kid who couldn't care less about me."

"We're done. As of today."

Saying those words felt like someone had reached into my chest and ripped out a chunk of flesh while I was still breathing.

But it didn't matter. I wasn't going to be around much longer anyway.

Eighty million in debt. I had no way out.

My original plan had been to wait until she was on that plane, then jump from this window.

If she didn't want to leave the country, if she wanted to go with Laura instead—fine. Let her go.

At least she wouldn't have to watch me fall.

But before I could finish the thought, Marta frowned.

"Dad," she said. "We're not the ones leaving. You are."

I stared at her.

"What does that mean?"

She didn't answer.

She turned around, pulled a document out of her bag, and set it on the desk.

"Dad, the company's almost ready to go public. You've worked hard enough. It's time to rest."

She tapped the document.

"Because of you, Mom's had a really difficult life all these years."

"Think of this as making it right."

I stared at the document. Every muscle in my body locked up.

It was a stock transfer agreement.

I lifted my eyes to my daughter.

"You... you want me to sign the company over to her?"

Marta nodded, casual as anything.

"Don't worry, Dad. After everything you've done raising me, I'll still take care of you when you're old."

Laura, who had been quiet this whole time, finally spoke.

She walked forward and took Marta's arm, looking at me with an expression of practiced warmth.

"Andre, don't worry. I'll manage the company well. You just stay home and relax. You've earned it."

I looked at her face.

And in that instant, I understood everything.

She hadn't come back for her daughter.

She'd come back for the company.

She'd worked on Marta, driven a wedge between us, turned my own daughter against me—all to get her hands on this business.

What she didn't know was that the company was about to collapse.

Eighty million in debt. A bottomless hole.

I opened my mouth. Then closed it.

I looked at my daughter and asked, slowly and carefully:

"This company is twenty years of my life. Are you sure—absolutely sure—you want to do this for someone like her?"

Marta's expression pinched into impatience.

"Dad, this is what you owe Mom. What you owe me."

"Do you know what it was like growing up with everyone calling me the girl with no mom?"

"Stop fighting it. Just sign."

She slid the stock transfer agreement across the desk toward me.

I looked down at it.

One signature, and everything the company owned would belong to Laura.

Including eighty million dollars of debt.

I picked up the pen. My hand hovered in the air.

I didn't bring it down.

And then—

"Hold on!"

A voice cut through the room from the doorway.