At the family reunion, my dad introduced his stepdaughter as “my real daughter” and told 40 relatives I was “the mistake from his first marriage.” Everyone laughed. I sipped my water, smiled, and said: “Since we’re introducing ourselves...” then I pulled out my phone. His new wife’s face went completely pale.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I reached for my phone and dialed my father's cell. He answered on the first ring, his voice trembling and slurred.

"Emily... Emily, please..."

"Dad, stop talking and listen to me!" I cut him off sharply. "Is anyone at the corporate office right now?"

"No... it's Sunday night. Why?"

"Vanessa or someone working for her is currently executing a wipe-command on the primary servers at Lawson Logistics. If that wipe finishes, all proof of her embezzlement—and all our client shipping contracts—will be erased forever. The company will go bankrupt by Tuesday."

A heavy silence fell over the line, followed by the sound of Richard gasping. "What do we do? I don't know how to stop a server wipe!"

"I'm driving to the office right now," I said. "Meet me there with the master keycard and the physical keys to the server vault. Do not tell anyone you are coming. Do you understand?"

"I'm on my way," he stammered.

Twenty minutes later, my car pulled into the darkened parking lot of Lawson Logistics, an industrial warehouse complex on the outskirts of Columbus. Rain slicked the asphalt, reflecting the amber glow of the security lights.

A sleek black SUV was parked in the shadow of the loading docks. My stomach dropped. Marcus Vance.

I pulled my car behind a row of shipping containers, out of sight, and grabbed a heavy steel flashlight from my glove box. A moment later, my dad’s truck sped into the lot, pulling up next to me.

Richard stepped out into the rain. In just a few hours, he looked like he had aged ten years. His hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, his eyes hollowed by guilt and fear. He walked toward me, his lips trembling as if he wanted to apologize, but I held up a hand.

"Not now, Dad. We need to get inside before they finish the wipe."

We moved quickly toward the side entrance. Richard tapped his keycard against the reader. The light turned green, and the door clicked open with a heavy electronic hum.

We slipped inside the darkened hallway. The building was pitch black, save for the emergency exit signs casting a faint red glow along the linoleum floor.

We moved silently down the corridor toward the central IT server room. As we approached the frosted glass door, a beam of light flickered from inside.

Someone was already in the room.

I motioned for Dad to stay behind me. Stepping quietly, I peeked through the door window.

Standing in front of the main server rack was a tall man in a dark raincoat—Marcus Vance himself. Beside him stood Brittany, holding a portable hard drive while Marcus typed commands into a laptop plugged directly into our network mainframe.

"How much longer?" Brittany asked nervously, checking her glowing phone. "Mom is waiting at the private airfield. If we miss the charter flight to Nassau, we're screwed."

"Relax, kid," Marcus replied smoothly, his tone cold and clinical. "The script is running. It's destroying the digital paper trail and overwriting the backups with garbage data. In five minutes, Lawson Logistics won't even have enough records left to file a tax return."

Over hearing them, Richard let out a muffled gasp of rage. Before I could stop him, he shoved the server room door open, slamming it hard against the wall.