Nathan stared at me, feigning shock.

"Marc?"

"Babe, give me a second," Emma said, flashing Nathan a reassuring smile. Before I could react, she seized my arm and dragged me out of earshot.

"Don't get the wrong idea," she hissed, releasing me. "We met after we broke up."

"Bullshit."

Heat flooded my vision, rage clawing at my throat. "He stopped being single this time last year. We were still together. You were already with him, weren't you?"

She didn't answer immediately.

I stepped forward, cornering her. "Emma, tell me the truth. Did we really break up because of the distance? Or was it him?"

She bit her lip, then met my gaze with chilling defiance. "Fine. Yes, I cheated. So what?"

I hadn't expected her to admit it so bluntly. The air left my lungs.

"Marc, look at where I came from," she said, her voice hard. "My parents are blue-collar workers. They scraped every penny to get me out of that town. I fought tooth and nail to get here. When a lifeline appears, I grab it. I don't apologize for surviving."

I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

She sighed. "My interview scores weren't high enough. I wouldn't have made the cut on my own. Nathan asked his mother—the branch president—to pull some strings. She got me in."

Disbelief paralyzed me. "His mother? You mean Emily?"

"Yes."

The ground tilted beneath my feet.

I, the biological son, had been blocked by arbitrary rules and conflict-of-interest excuses. Yet Nathan only had to whisper a request, and a stranger—someone my mother had never met—was welcomed with open arms.

I was the true heir. Yet I was the one standing on the outside.

I clenched my jaw, fighting the sting in my eyes. "I never thought you were capable of this, Emma."

"Don't play the victim," she snapped, crossing her arms. "You have no idea what it took to get here. Sure, I could have stayed with you, but if another man offers me a shortcut across social classes, why wouldn't I take it?"

She paused, her gaze sweeping over me with pity. "And let's be honest, Marcus. If the roles were reversed, you would have dumped me just as fast."

I stared at her, unable to recognize the woman I had once loved.

"So don't blame me for being pragmatic. Blame yourself. Blame your lack of ability. Blame the fact that you aren't Nathan, and you certainly don't have a mother like Emily backing you."

I froze. A bitter laugh bubbled in my chest.

"You really don't know whose son I am, do you?"

"Does it matter?"

"What if I told you Emily is my mother?"

She blinked. Then scoffed.

"If you were really her son, you wouldn't be standing here. You'd be in the Fortune 500 alongside Nathan."

I was left speechless.

"Em?"

Nathan's voice cut through the tension. He approached, brow furrowed in mock concern. "Everything okay? Is there a misunderstanding?"

"It's nothing," Emma said, dismissing me with a glance. "Just an ex who can't let go."

She linked her arm through his and walked away without a backward glance.

But just before they disappeared, Nathan looked back.

His mask evaporated. The corner of his mouth twisted into a smirk of pure, triumphant malice.

My phone buzzed. I answered mechanically, mind still reeling.

It was my father.

"Marcus," he barked. "It's Sunday. Are you still throwing a tantrum? Your mother is furious. Stop making trouble and come home."

"I'm not making trouble," I whispered, staring at the empty space where they had stood.

I ended the call without waiting for a response and immediately dialed another number.

"Jackson. The Tengan Corporation file. It's been handed over to our division, correct?"

"Yes, Chief."

"Emily Simmons recently took on a new protégé. Focus your audit there."

"Understood."

For the next few days, I buried myself in the investigation, ignoring every call from the Whitmore estate. I thought silence would be answer enough, but I underestimated their persistence.

One evening, just as I left the office, a black sedan swerved to the curb, blocking my path.

My father stepped out, looking harried. "Marc, we finally found you. Your mother's waiting at home." He reached for my arm. "Stop this nonsense. You haven't been home in a month. You need to come with me tonight. We're family—there's nothing we can't resolve."

I opened my mouth to refuse, but noticed my superior's car pulling out of the garage behind me. Causing a scene here would only damage my professional reputation.

I swallowed my protest and climbed into the backseat.

The atmosphere inside the Whitmore house was suffocating.

Nathan was already there, playing the dutiful son as he poured tea for my mother. Emily sat at the head of the table, her expression souring the moment I walked in.

"So, you actually decided to show up?" Her voice dripped with disdain.

"If my presence is such a burden, I can leave right now."

I turned to walk out, but my father caught my arm.

"Marc, please," he hissed, before turning a placating look toward his wife.

"What could possibly keep you so busy?" Emily scoffed.

"Work."

"Work?" A mocking smile twisted her lips. "A civil service job you scrounged up yourself, paying a few thousand a month? You think that's worth neglecting your family for?" She sipped her tea without looking at me. "Without my support, what kind of decent job could you possibly find?"

"Support?"

I almost laughed. The word tasted like ash.

"Ms. Simmons, from childhood until this moment, what exactly have you supported me with?"

Her hand froze halfway to the saucer. The room went silent.

"Most mothers, even those with nothing, wouldn't dream of tearing down their own son's achievements," I continued, my voice steady. "But you're different. Even when I stand on my own two feet, you feel the need to kick them out from under me. All your resources, all your care, went to an outsider. When did you ever spare a crumb for me?"

I took a step closer. "Since you never gave me anything, what gives you the right to threaten to take it away?"

"You—!" Emily shot to her feet, face flushing.

Nathan rushed to her side, grabbing my arm with feigned desperation. "Brother! How can you talk to Mom like that? Apologize, right now!"

Emily pressed a hand to her chest, finger trembling as she pointed at me. "Do you see this? This is why I help Nate and not you! He has a heart. You have a stone where yours should be!"

My father patted her shoulder, shooting me a disappointed look. "Marc, I brought you home to make peace, not start a war. Look at Nate—why can't you be sensible like him? Just apologize."

I ripped my arm from Nathan's grip.

"I don't need to be sensible. You have Nathan for that." My voice dropped. "It doesn't matter anyway. You've never treated me like a son."

"How dare you!" Emily shrieked.

"Am I wrong?" I stared straight into her eyes.

Crash.

A teacup shattered at my feet.

"Fine! Go!" she screamed. "Get out! I want to see what you amount to in Ashford City without my name backing you!"

I turned to leave. Nathan reached out as if to stop me, but his hand merely grazed my sleeve—a calculated gesture designed to fail.

"Brother, don't be like this! Just say you're sorry!"

"Nate, let him go!" Emily yelled. "Ungrateful wretch! When he hits a wall and comes crawling back, he'll realize how wrong he was!"

I walked out. The heavy door slammed shut behind me.

Even though I had long since hardened my heart against them, the sting lingered. A tightness constricted my throat, but I refused to let tears fall. I hailed a cab and gave the driver my office address.

Back at the bureau, the silence was a relief.

On my desk sat the file Jackson had compiled. I flipped it open and scanned the financial records. A cold satisfaction settled in my chest as I traced the irregularities.

I tossed the file back onto the desk.

I knew it.

"Nathan Whitmore," I murmured. "You aren't nearly as clean as you pretend to be."

Year-end audit season hit like a guillotine. A fleet of black inspection vehicles screeched to a halt outside Tengan Corporation headquarters.

We didn't waste a second. Straight past security, into the elevators, and up to Nathan's executive suite.

"Investigate me?"

Nathan was lounging in his leather chair when we entered. He heard the team's declaration and sneered, not even bothering to stand.

"Do you have any idea who I am?" He tossed a pen onto his desk. "Who authorized this?"

"I did."

The color drained from his face.

The inspectors split down the middle, clearing a path. I walked through, badge raised.

"Tax Investigation Division, Marcus Whitmore. We have substantial evidence of tax evasion and fraudulent underreporting. You will cooperate immediately."