“My son chose a birthday party over his father’s funeral. That night, I opened the letter my dying husband left behind—and discovered a clause that gave me the power to decide whether our only child would inherit everything… or nothing at all.

“Your father and I spent twenty years trying to interest you in the actual work behind the title. You wanted the office. You wanted the respect. You wanted the private jet and boardroom introductions. You did not want the responsibility.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true. You showed up for ceremonies and disappeared for preparation. You enjoyed being Richard Mitchell’s son more than you ever tried to become Richard Mitchell’s successor.”

Thomas slammed his palm onto the desk.

“Stop talking like I was a disappointment. Dad was proud of me.”

The sentence hung between them.

Eleanor’s anger drained, leaving only sorrow.

“He loved you desperately,” she said. “That is not the same as pride.”

Thomas’s expression shifted, pain breaking through the rage for one unguarded second.

Then his phone buzzed.

He glanced at it.

“Victoria needs me at Mills’s office.”

“Of course she does.”

His eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means when was the last time she asked how you were feeling about losing your father?”

Thomas looked away.

“Do not do that,” he said.

“When was the last time, Thomas?”

“You don’t know anything about my marriage.”