Ethan sighed. "She's visiting."
"She's trespassing." Daniel walked closer. His gaze shifted to the bucket, then the notebook, then Maya herself. "What exactly do you want?"
The question landed heavily. Maya remained quiet.
Daniel continued, "Money?"
"No."
"Attention?"
"No."
"Then why are you here?"
Maya looked directly at him. "To help your father."
Daniel laughed—a short, sharp laugh, the kind that carried no humor. "Help him?" He looked at Ethan. "Dad, this is ridiculous."
Ethan didn't answer. That surprised Daniel; normally, his father would have agreed. Instead, Ethan simply watched, waiting, listening.
Maya stood. Her small figure looked even smaller beside Daniel's tailored suit, yet somehow she didn't appear intimidated. "My grandma said people need help sometimes."
Daniel crossed his arms. "My father has the best doctors in America."
"Maybe."
Daniel's jaw tightened. "You're a child."
"Yes."
"You don't know anything about our lives."
"No."
"Then stop pretending you do."
The cruelty wasn't extreme, but it was enough: enough to make Maya look down, enough to remind her she didn't belong here, enough to reopen wounds she knew well. Poor neighborhood, secondhand clothes, no parents, no money—people often saw those things before they saw her.
Daniel turned back toward Ethan. "Dad, this needs to stop."
Ethan's expression hardened. "Leave it alone."
Daniel looked stunned. "What?"
"I said leave it alone."
The words carried the authority that once controlled billion-dollar deals. For the first time, Daniel stepped back.