Damon's POV
My father sat rigidly in a chair outside my office, his expensive three-piece suit making him stand out like a sore thumb in the precinct. His expression remained stoic as always, that familiar look of determination etched into his features. If there was one thing I knew about him, it was that he never abandoned a mission.
""Dad! Have you been waiting long? You should have called me,"" I said, trying to maintain a friendly tone despite knowing exactly why he was here.
""I arrived less than five minutes ago, Damon,"" he replied with his characteristic directness. ""I want to talk to you, and I'm certain you already know what this is about."" Despite being in his mid-sixties, my father carried himself with an imposing presence that made him appear younger. His active lifestyle and commanding demeanor had always intimidated business rivals—and his children.
""Let's go to my office,"" I suggested, fighting the childish urge to huff and grumble as I led the way.
