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The crystal chandeliers at the celebration banquet were almost blinding. I stood in the third row, half-hidden in a corner with a glass in hand. A round of applause rose from the main table. The group chairman, Ewan Byrne, stood up with a woman at his side. She wore wine-red gown and had immaculate makeup. She was my ex-wife, whom I hadn't seen in six years. "Everyone," Ewan said into the microphone, his voice cutting through the hall, "let me introduce my daughter, Isabel Byrne." My grip on the glass froze. "And from today onward, she'll also be your new superior, the general manager of the South region." The room erupted. The deputy director beside me turned sharply, as if to say something, then stopped himself. Isabel followed the applause with her eyes, scanning the room until she found me. She smiled. That smile was burned into my memory. Six years ago, she had smiled the same way across a table full of divorce papers. I set down my glass and stepped forward.