The late afternoon sun dipped into the office like liquid gold, casting long, slanted shadows across the polished floors.

Cyrus stood by the window, one hand in his pocket, the other absently fiddling with the edge of his cuff. He was just about to leave when Scott, his ever-efficient front desk manager, buzzed through the intercom.

"Sir... your mother is here."

Cyrus froze for a heartbeat.

He could almost feel the atmosphere tighten, like a taut wire ready to snap. Of course she would come. The diamond fiasco was on everyone's lips, splattered across headlines and whispered through the hallways of power. He hadn't even bothered instructing the journalists to...