MARION

The elevator chimed softly as it opened onto the executive floor of Whitfield Diamond Corporation. The faint hum of conversation, the rhythmic clicking of heels on marble, and the distant scent of coffee all mingled in the air.

I adjusted the folder in my hand, a contract for final approval, and walked down the long hallway toward my father’s office. The receptionist smiled, greeting me politely.

“Good morning, Mr. Whitfield. Your father’s expecting you.”

“Thanks, Cynthia,” ...