I shut the door behind me.
“I think you know.”
He stood.
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know enough,” I said. “I know how you treated Chloe. I know what some of your former clients have said. And I know you’re not nearly as untouchable as you think you are.”
He tried to bluster through it, tried to turn it back on me, calling me bitter, jealous, hung up on the past. But I was long past the point of being wounded by his version of events.
I set a thick folder on his desk.
“You may want to read that.”
His face changed when he saw what was inside—statements, financial records, messages, timelines, everything gathered carefully and lawfully. The confidence drained out of him by the second.
“You can’t do this,” he said.
“Watch me,” I answered.
He reached for my arm as I turned to leave, but I pulled away instantly.
“No, Ethan. This part belongs to you now.”
I walked out with my heart hammering but my steps steady. It wasn’t about revenge anymore—not in the simple way I once imagined it. It was about truth finally catching up. It was about not letting him keep rewriting every room he entered.