“Chloe, do not move,” Margaret said, reaching out to touch my shoulder. “You just survived a major hemorrhage.”

“I am not lying here while he steals my children,” I said.

I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress.

The moment my feet touched the cold linoleum, a wave of nausea washed over me.

The IV line in my left hand pulled taut, the clear plastic tube tugging at the needle embedded in my vein.

I ripped the medical tape away, pulling the needle out with a sharp tug.

A small drop of dark blood welled on the back of my hand.

“Chloe, listen to me,” Margaret said, her voice dropping to a low, urgent whisper. “You cannot physically stop him. But the trust can.”

She reached into her leather briefcase and pulled out a thick document bound in blue cardstock.

“What is that?” I asked, holding onto the metal bedside table to keep myself upright.

“It is the emergency custody clause of the Voss-Holloway Trust,” Margaret said.

“Your grandfather anticipated that Grant might try to leverage the family to protect his own position.”