To say that Elle was a little furious to see Angela sitting in her Daddy's chair, behind her Daddy's desk, with all her Daddy's things was perhaps a bit of an understatement. Not even Gabriel's fingers laced through hers helped the rush of indignation she felt.

She never liked Angela, for so long she couldn't even remember why, but this right here seemed like a good enough reason to start with justification. Suddenly the weight of her father's death felt a bit heavier, and so by times more real, and it made her angry he was gone. Taken from her from some bastard who no one would even tell her about. She felt wrathful, her skin humming with charging electricity, her eyes starting to burn.

Angela's wrinkled, ugly, old face appraised them indifferently, and she gestured to the couch--her Dad's couch for them to sit, her posture regal and commanding.

Elle wanted to hurt her as she obeyed, her jaw tightening. It wasn't Angela's fault her Dad was gone, not really, but she was a good enough target.

"What gives you two the right to slaughter an employee and an agent of this company?" Angela asked simply, like a disappointed mother, but lacking any sincere concern. It took a liar to know one--and Elle would know.

Elle met her hard stare levelly. "I didn't like her."