“I need you to photograph anything important in Brennan’s home office,” I told her. “Do not remove the originals. Do not confront him. Take pictures and leave.”

The following afternoon, she called me in a whisper.

“There is a locked metal box behind the filing cabinet.”

“Can you open it?”

“He keeps a spare key in the desk.”

A few seconds later, I heard the soft click of a lock.

Camille drew a sharp breath.

“Mom, the original separation agreement is here. There are statements from Paige’s apartment, transfer receipts and loan applications. My name is on everything.”

“Photograph every page.”

The sound of her phone camera continued until a door opened somewhere in the house.

Brennan’s voice came from the hallway.

“Camille? What are you doing in there?”

“Put everything back,” I whispered. “Leave the room calmly.”

Her breathing became faster.

“He is coming toward the office.”

Then the call ended.

For several minutes, she did not answer my messages.

I had already left my office with Wesley and Miriam when my phone finally rang.

“I’m all right,” Camille whispered. “He thought I was cleaning. I do not think he believed me, but I saved the photographs.”

I wanted to bring her home immediately.

Miriam advised us to move carefully for one more day. The bank was already prepared to block any new loan attempt, and the documents we had collected were being secured.

We were close to stopping Brennan completely.

The Empty Drive

That evening, I returned to the Kincaid house carrying Camille’s wooden box.

Inside it was an empty security drive.

“I finally found what Brennan requested,” I said.

His entire expression changed.

For the first time since I had known him, he greeted me warmly.

“Thank you, Daphne. You have no idea how much this helps us.”

He took the box without checking the drive.

Darlene entered the dining room and immediately complained that Camille had served dinner late.

“Your mother should have taught you how to manage a respectable household,” she said.

I looked at Brennan.

“Is everything all right with the company?”

His face tightened.

By then, Holloway Components had canceled every shipment. His credit lines were under review, and three suppliers had demanded immediate payment.

“Just a temporary banking issue,” he replied. “Nothing serious.”

The next morning, Brennan attempted to authorize another large loan through Blue Lantern Logistics.

The bank rejected the empty drive.

It also informed him that every connected credit facility had been suspended.

That night, he called me again.

This time, his voice was almost friendly.

“We are having a family lunch on Sunday,” he said. “There are some important matters concerning Camille’s future. You should be there.”

I knew exactly what he planned to do.

He would surround Camille and me with his relatives, blame her for the financial disaster and pressure me to sell what he believed was my little workshop.

I accepted the invitation.

The Sunday Lunch

I arrived at the Kincaid home wearing a plain gray dress and carrying a canvas handbag.

Darlene noticed that I had come in an ordinary sedan and laughed loudly enough for the relatives near the door to hear.

“Daphne has never cared much for appearances,” she said. “People who spend their lives around machinery are usually practical.”

Nearly fifteen relatives sat around the long dining table.

Camille moved quietly between them, serving food while wearing an apron. Brennan’s cards had stopped working, yet the table was covered with expensive seafood, steaks and wine purchased through accounts connected to Camille.

When everyone was seated, Darlene began.

“Because of Camille’s carelessness, our family company has lost nearly nine million dollars.”

Brennan placed a contract in front of me.

“If you sell your workshop and use the money to assume part of the debt, we will handle this privately,” he said. “If you refuse, I will file for separation tomorrow, and Camille will remain legally responsible for everything under her name.”

Several relatives immediately supported him.

“Parents are responsible for the mistakes of their children.”

“Camille should appreciate that Brennan is offering her a way out.”

“The Kincaid family has a reputation to protect.”

Camille looked at me with tears in her eyes.

“Mom, I never agreed to any of this.”

Before I could answer, the front door opened.

A stylish young woman entered with an angry expression.

“Brennan, my cards were declined again,” she said. “The building manager says the rent has not been paid.”

The room became silent.

Brennan rushed toward her.

“Paige, you cannot be here.”

“You promised this would be settled today.”

He lowered his voice, but everyone could still hear him.

“I’m getting the money from Camille’s mother. Once she sells the shop, I will transfer everything.”

Paige stared past him at the crowded dining room, then turned and left.

When Brennan returned, his face was covered in nervous perspiration.

“She is a marketing consultant,” he said. “She has been difficult lately.”

No one believed him.

Still, Darlene pointed toward the contract.

“Enough distractions. Sign the document, Daphne.”

The Woman Behind the Workshop

I opened my canvas bag and removed a black folder.

First, I placed the copied separation agreement on the table.

Then I added the statements from Paige’s apartment, the transfer records and the Blue Lantern loan applications.

“Is this your marketing consultant?” I asked. “The same consultant whose apartment was paid for with money moved through a company registered in Camille’s name?”

Brennan stared at the papers.

Darlene recovered first.

“These could have come from anywhere,” she snapped. “You are trying to damage my son because you are jealous of this family.”

Brennan pushed the photographs away.

“Even if you had real evidence, you could not do anything with it,” he said. “I run Kincaid Manufacturing. You run a small workshop.”

I removed one final document.

It was the formal cancellation of every Holloway Components contract.

“Your largest customer has ended its relationship with Kincaid Manufacturing,” I said. “All outstanding balances are now due.”