Jonathan tried to recover his composure, puffing up with the entitlement of a man who had bought and bul:li:ed his way through life. “This is a private matter,” he snarled, glaring at the phones pointed at him. “Delete those videos. Now.”
The onlookers didn’t flinch. A teenager muttered, “He’s done for.” Others nodded in agreement.
William Harrington, still in his guard disguise, stepped closer. His voice was steady, commanding. “Sir, I’ll have to ask you to come with me.” To the casual eye, it looked like a mall cop doing his job. But to Jonathan, there was something unsettling—an authority that couldn’t be faked.
Jonathan scoffed. “Do you know who I am? I own half the companies in this city. One call, and you’ll be out of a job.”
William’s jaw tightened. He had built empires, negotiated with ruthless oil barons, and commanded armies of lawyers. Yet nothing compared to the sight of his daughter, trembling and humiliated. His disguise gave him the rare gift of seeing Jonathan without pretense, and the truth was vile.
