Marcus opened the door, and I gently laid Rosie across the leather back seat.

I sat beside her, pulling her small, warm hand into my lap.

Nathan climbed into the front seat, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“The news about Vanessa,” I whispered, staring at my phone. “What does it mean?”

Nathan turned his head slightly, his profile sharp against the passing streetlights.

“It means she found out what Grant was doing with her family’s offshore accounts,” he said.

“She pulled her support.”

“And the message?” I asked.

“Judge Vance’s clerk,” Nathan said. “He knows the Whitmores have been trying to bypass the system.”

The SUV surged forward, weaving through the late afternoon Nashville traffic.

The sky had turned a bruised, dark purple by the time we pulled up to the Davidson County Courthouse.

The stone building looked cold and imposing under the streetlamps.

Marcus stayed in the car with Rosie, locking the doors the moment we stepped out.

I held my coat tightly around myself, the autumn wind biting at my neck.

Nathan took my elbow, his grip firm and reassuring as we walked up the concrete steps.