The titles of the files made my stomach twist into a tight, cold knot.

*Hayes, Claire – Psychiatric Evaluation – June 2022.*

*Hayes, Claire – Clinical Admission Records.*

*Hayes, Claire – Prescription History and Therapy Logs.*

“You think the probate court is just going to hand you the keys to a fifty-million-dollar empire?” Evan asked, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

“You have a history, Claire,” he whispered. “A very documented, very unstable history.”

“Evan, don’t,” I said, my voice barely audible.

“We both know what happened after your father’s accident,” Evan said, taking another step closer.

“We both know what the doctors wrote about your state of mind,” he said.

Vivian watched her son, a faint glimmer of hope returning to her eyes as she realized what he was doing.

Sloane looked away, staring down at her shoes.

Lydia stood perfectly still, her eyes locked on Evan’s phone.

“If I go down for this wine, Claire, I am taking your sanity down with me,” Evan whispered.

“I will file these with the court tomorrow morning to petition for a full conservatorship,” he said.