I walked over to the glass bassinets.

My three children lay side by side, their tiny chests rising and falling under the warmth of the heat lamps.

They looked so small, but their heart rates were steady on the monitors.

A few minutes later, the door opened.

Arthur walked in, carrying a wet black umbrella and a thick leather folder.

He was Grant’s younger brother, but he looked nothing like him today.

His coat was soaked from the storm outside, and his hair was messy.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked, stopping near the entrance.

“I am alive,” I said. “And my children are safe.”

“I am sorry I did not come sooner,” he said, looking down at his shoes. “Grant threatened to cut off my family if I spoke to you.”

“Why are you here now, Arthur?” I asked.

He held out the leather folder.

“Grant tried to transfer forty million dollars from the children’s education fund two hours ago,” Arthur said.

I felt a cold chill run down my spine.

“How?” I asked. “Margaret said the trust was locked.”