“This conversation is over.”
“Is it?” He stops an arm's length away. “Your mother called me after your lunch. She's worried you'll do something foolish with your shares. Give them back to me, perhaps.” A cold smile. “Is that your plan, Alexander? Surrender your seat at the table so you can play house with your marketing girl?”
“Isn't that what you want? Absolute control? My shares would give you that.”
Something shifts in his face. For a moment, the mask slips, and I see something almost human underneath. Almost.
“I want my legacy,” he says. “The one I've worked for my entire life. A Hammond has to be in charge of this company. My blood. My name.” He holds my gaze. “Believe me, Alexander, if I had other options, I would consider them.”
The words land like a fist to the chest. Not good enough to love, but too necessary to let go. The only heir he has, and he wishes he had another.
“Is that why you keep fucking younger and younger mistresses?” I taunt him. “Are you hoping to finally have another child? A spare heir in case this one keeps disappointing you?”
Victor's jaw tightens. I've hit something. Good.
“Watch yourself,” he says quietly.
“Or what? You'll disown me? We both know you can't.”
The mask slides back into place. When he speaks again, his voice is calm. Controlled. More dangerous than when he was angry.
“No, I can't disown you. You're right about that.” He straightens his cuffs. “Your friends, however. Logan and Ethan. Their little ventures. The racing team. The tech projects.” He looks up at me. “They don't carry the Hammond name. They don't have Hammond protection.”
“Don't.”
“One phone call, Alexander. That's all it would take. Contracts cancelled. Investors spooked. The media asking uncomfortable questions about their silent partner's family connections.” He returns to his chair, dismisses me with a single gesture. “I'm not threatening you. I'm reminding you of reality.”
“You don't get to control my life anymore.”
“I never controlled your life. I shaped it. There's a difference.” He waves a hand toward the door. “Go back to your girl. Enjoy your rebellion. When it all falls apart, you know where to find me.”
I stare at him. The rage is cold now, settled deep in my chest. He's not wrong about his power. He could hurt Logan. He could hurt Ethan. He could make Emma's life a nightmare.
I can't beat him. Not yet. Not like this.
“We're done,” I say.
“For now,” he agrees.
I walk out without looking back. The elevator feels like a coffin on the way down. I push through the lobby, out into the afternoon air, hands shaking with everything I didn't say.
The Ducati waits where I left it. The roar drowns out Victor's voice. I pull into traffic, weave between cars, push faster than I should.
I need to get to the lab. I need to think. I need to be anywhere but inside my own skull.
The light ahead turns yellow. I ease off the throttle and reach for the brake.
Nothing happens.
I squeeze harder. The lever goes soft, all the way to the handlebars. No resistance. No response.
The intersection rushes toward me. A delivery truck rolls through the cross street. I have seconds.
I downshift hard, trying to use the engine to slow the bike. The motor screams in protest. I swerve right, aiming for the gap between the truck and a parked sedan. Too fast. Too tight.
The front wheel clips the sedan's bumper.
The world tilts. Sky. Concrete. The shriek of metal. One shoulder hits the ground first, then helmet cracks against the asphalt. I'm rolling, sliding, the bike spinning away in a shower of sparks.
