A cruel, slow smile spread across his face.

“You might have frozen the corporate accounts, Claire,” he said, stepping closer to our daughter. “But you can’t force me to pay for her.”

He leaned down, looking directly into Mia’s eyes.

“Yale is eighty thousand dollars a year, Mia,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “And your mother doesn’t have the liquid cash to cover a single semester.”

Mia looked at me, her eyes filling with panic.

“Preston, don’t,” I said, standing up to place myself between him and our daughter.

“No, let’s talk about reality,” Preston said, sneering as he backed up toward the door. “If you go through with this, Mia’s future is gone.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen.

“I can call the dean of admissions right now,” he threatened, his voice rising. “I can pull my financial backing before the bank offices open at nine.”

He stared at me, waiting for me to break, waiting for the panic to show on my face.

My fingers brushed against the secondary pocket inside the folder.