Niamh smiles but covers it with her hand.
"Maybe that's what you want," he says.
"To burn it all down like your father did."
I see Lena tense, see her fingers twitch toward her phone.
She's waiting for the signal, ready to jump in if it goes too far.
I push my chair back.
"You don't get to talk about my father."
He stands.
"Someone has to. You're about to ruin everything he built."
There's a moment, a single heartbeat, where I want to drop the act.
To tell them all it's a game, a show for the enemies outside the window.
But I see the way the guards watch me, the way Lena's face has gone white, the way Niamh has set her pastry down to savor the moment.
I raise my voice.
"If you don't like it, you can leave."
He stares at me, jaw working.
"Maybe I will."
I shrug.
"You never could stick around when things got hard."
He laughs, ugly.
"Fuck you."
I smile, showing teeth.
"Not anymore."
He grabs his coat, turns to the room.
"Anyone who wants to work for a madwoman, stay. The rest of you, call me in Wicklow. I'll be setting up a real crew."
He stalks out, boots echoing on the tile.
The doors swing shut behind him, rattling the glass in their frames.
For a long minute, no one moves.
The only sound is the drip of coffee off the edge of the table.
Lena is first to speak.
"Should I…?"
