"Why now?" I asked. "Fourteen years of silence, and suddenly you're researching the Langs?"
"Because fourteen years ago, you walked away from me. And you were right." He took a slow sip of his Scotch. "I spent years telling myself you'd come back. That you'd realize you needed me. That you'd fail without my guidance." His jaw tightened. "You didn't fail. You became a doctor. A damn good one, from what I hear. You built a life without my money or my name or my approval. Exactly like you said you would."
"So this is, what? Admitting you were wrong?"
"This is admitting I was an arrogant fool who tried to control his daughter instead of trusting her." He set down his glass. "I called emergency medicine a waste of your potential. I was wrong. What you do in that ER, saving lives, being the last hope for people on their worst days... that's not a waste. That's extraordinary. I was wrong."
The words landed strangely. I'd imagined this conversation a hundred times over the years. Imagined him apologizing, admitting he was wrong. In my imagination, it had felt like victory.
In reality, it just felt hollow.
"The folder," I said, nodding toward it. "What's in it?"
He pushed it across the table. "Everything I could find on Richard Lang. Shell companies. Payments to 'consultants' that coincide with witnesses changing their stories in other cases. A pattern of making problems disappear."
I opened it. The documents were dense, meticulous—exactly the kind of evidence a corporate lawyer would know how to find.
"The Langs have been operating like this for years," my father continued. "Money flowing to the right people. Investigations dying quiet deaths. Your case isn't the first one Richard Lang has buried."
"And you want to help me take him down."
"I want to protect my daughter." His voice was gruff. Unfamiliar. "Whatever else has happened between us, that hasn't changed."
I flipped through the pages. Financial records. Corporate filings. A timeline of suspicious payments.
"This is good work."
"I've been at this for three weeks. Since the news first broke about Kevin Lang's arrest." He leaned forward. "I can do more, Ava. I have contacts at firms across the city. I can put pressure on the Langs from angles they won't expect. Make it expensive for them to keep fighting."
"And in return?"
"Nothing." He held my gaze. "I mean it. No strings. No expectations. If you want to walk out of here and never speak to me again, I'll understand. But let me help you first."
I closed the folder. Looked at my father—this man I'd spent over a decade avoiding, telling myself I didn't need.
Brian's voice echoed in my head:You're not crawling back. You're deploying an asset.
"Okay," I said. "Help."
Something flickered across his face. Relief, maybe. Or hope.
"Thank you." He reached into his briefcase again and pulled out a business card. "One more thing. I'm arranging a security detail for you. Two men, rotating shifts. They'll be discreet."
The words hit like ice water.
"No."
"Ava—"
"I said no." I could feel it already—the familiar tightening in my chest, the walls closing in. Fourteen years of freedom, and here it was again. The invisible hand on my shoulder, steering me where he wanted me to go. "I don't need your security detail."
"A man grabbed you outside your workplace." His voice was calm, measured, the way it always was when he thought he was being reasonable. "Someone vandalized your apartment. The Langs have resources and reach, and they've already demonstrated they're willing to use violence. This isn't negotiable."
"Everything with you is non-negotiable."
"Your safety is non-negotiable." He leaned forward, and for a moment, the mask slipped. Underneath the control, underneath the careful composure, I saw something raw. Fear. "We've just gotten you back, Ava. Your mother and I—we've spent fourteen years wondering if you were okay, if you were happy, if we'd ever see you again. And now there's a powerful man out there who wants to hurt you, and I will not sit by and watch that happen."
His voice cracked on the wordplease. Charles Rothwell didn't crack.
