I found my daughter crying in the kitchen, eating scraps from dirty plates while her husband smiled and said, “She deserves it.” I didn’t scream or argue. I took her by the hand, walked out with her, and called a lawyer. Hours later, we discovered a contract, eight months of unpaid work, and evidence that could completely destroy him.

There was nowhere to run. The office had no windows, and Damian was blocking the only exit down the hallway.

“Get behind the door,” Robert ordered silently, motioning for Chloe and me to press ourselves against the wall.

Robert stood in the center of the room, holding his heavy briefcase like a shield.

Seconds later, Damian burst into the office. He looked unhinged. His expensive suit jacket was discarded, his tie was loosened, and his eyes were wide with manic panic.

He took one look at the open floor safe and let out a guttural scream of rage. Then, he saw Robert.

“Who the hell are you?!” Damian roared, lunging forward.

Before Robert could speak, Damian saw Chloe and me hiding behind the door. His eyes locked onto my daughter with a terrifying, predatory glare.

“You stupid bitch!” Damian snarled, charging directly at Chloe. “I’m going to kill you!”

He didn't make it.

I didn't think. I just reacted. I grabbed the heavy glass whiskey decanter off his desk and swung it with every ounce of strength I had in my fifty-eight-year-old body.

The thick glass shattered against the side of Damian’s head.

He groaned in shock, staggering backward, clutching his bleeding temple. He tripped over the edge of the rolled-up Persian rug and crashed heavily onto the floor.

“Run!” I screamed.

Robert grabbed Chloe’s arm, and the three of us sprinted out of the office, leaving Damian groaning on the floor. We ran blindly through the dark restaurant kitchen, dodging prep tables and hanging pots.