“Haven’t you heard a word I said? That would only harm Teddy, in the end.”

“What did you do to Caroline?”

“Nothing! Trust me on that.”

“I can’t trust anyone in my life,” I said. “That’s how you raised me, to be always suspicious of other people’s motives. You impressed on me, when I was still a child, that the only reason people would want to get close to me was for money.”

“It’s a good lesson to keep in mind. But Caroline wasn’t motivated by money. She believed in family loyalty.”

“There’s a problem with blind loyalty when you mistake a monster for a man.”

There was a thud behind me. I hadn’t heard Harris open the door of the study, but his heavy footsteps were unmistakable.

“I heard shouting. Are you all right, sir?” Harris asked.

“Theo’s deciding whether he’s up to the task of taking me down,” my father said. “And—spoiler alert—he’s not.”

“It’s time for you to leave,” Harris said.

“This doesn’t end here,” I promised. “I quit the business for many reasons, but the main one is that I want to see justice done, and I will. For Caroline. For Teddy. For Mirelle.”

My father chuckled. “Good luck with that, Theo.” He rose and left the room.

After my father left, Harris glowered at me. “I already told you to go.”

“I met with an old colleague of yours while I was in Berlin,” I said. “Mehmet Badem. Remember him?”

“A drug addict,” Harris said. “People like that are better off dead. They’re worthless.”

I took a step closer to him. “You’ve been doing my father’s dirty work for twenty years now. Does that ever disrupt your sleep? Do you ever feel guilty?”

“You’re a fine one to talk. Do you have any idea what hell you put your father through?” he demanded. “He’s done everything for you, and you pay him back with betrayal.”

The loathing he had for me was so strong I could sense it; it was like steam rising from his skin.

“You’ve wanted to beat me to a pulp since I was a teenager,” I said. “Why haven’t you?”

“Your father wouldn’t like it if I hit you first.”

“Is that all that holds you back?” I asked. “Fine.”

I punched him in the stomach. My fist connected with hard muscle, which was exactly as I expected. Harris grunted.

“There you go,” I said. “Now you can tell my father that I hit you first.”

His eyes lit up. He grabbed my throat with both hands—with the quivering eagerness of a man whose dream was finally coming true—and shoved me against the bookcase. He lifted me up so that I rested lightly on my toes. I’d expected him to draw blood quickly, but he seemed intent on causing more permanent damage.