“They cannot hurt us anymore,” I said, kissing the top of her head.

“What about the house?” she asked. “What about my room?”

“The penthouse is ours,” I said, showing her the edge of the blue document in my folder. “Your father has to leave by tomorrow night.”

She let out a long, shaky breath, but her brow remained furrowed.

“He’s going to be angry, Mom,” she said. “You know how he gets when he loses control.”

“Let him be angry,” I said.

She looked down at her lap, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress.

“He told me last week that if I didn’t side with him in the corporate restructuring, he wouldn’t sign the tuition checks for Yale,” she said softly.

My chest tightened, but I kept my face perfectly still.

“He said he controls the purse strings,” she added, a tear finally spilling over her lashes.

“He thinks he does,” I said, squeezing her shoulder. “But he underestimates what I am capable of when it comes to your future.”

Before Mia could answer, the brass doorknob jiggled.