The tires screeched against the asphalt, leaving dark gray streaks on the road.

“He’s here,” Molly said, her posture instantly stiffening.

Brent slammed his car door shut and marched up the walkway.

His designer jacket was unbuttoned, and his hair was messy from the wind.

His face was flushed a deep, angry red.

He didn’t knock this time; he pounded his fist against the wooden door.

“Tessa!” Brent yelled through the wood. “Open the door!”

“Do not open it,” Jennifer warned quietly. “I will handle this.”

Jennifer opened the door a few inches, keeping the security chain engaged.

“Brent,” Jennifer said, her voice steady and professional. “You are not welcome on this property.”

“Get out of my way, Jennifer,” Brent hissed, his eyes darting to the space behind her. “I need to talk to my wife.”

“I am her legal representative,” Jennifer said. “Any communication must go through me.”

“She is ruining my family!” Brent shouted, his voice cracking. “My mother is seventy years old!”

“Your mother is currently occupying a luxury penthouse paid for with stolen funds,” Jennifer replied.