My husband shot to his feet and slammed his palm on the table.
The baby in his arms burst into wailing sobs. Summer flinched.
She tossed the half-eaten dumpling onto the table.
"What are you screaming about?"
"Fine, I'll delete it. But only if you transfer the company shares to Desmond."
I stared at my daughter's flushed face, searching for even a trace of guilt. There was nothing.
I shook my head, defeated, and took the baby back from my husband's arms, rocking her gently.
"Summer, your father and I have told you a hundred times. When we're gone, the company will be yours."
"And Desmond is already the general manager. Now he wants the shares too? Don't you think that's a little greedy?"
Summer crossed her arms and looked at me sideways.
"You two always know how to make yourselves sound good."
"That general manager title is a joke. Every decision, big or small, still has to go through Dad. What kind of general manager is that?"
"You keep saying 'when we're dead, it'll all be yours.' What if I die before you? Who am I supposed to take it up with then?"
"What, am I supposed to wait underground for you to burn it all down to me?"