“They are poisoning Alexander,” I said, cold fury taking over. “I have the medical records in my lap right now. Julian is killing him.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

“You need to stop,” he said, his voice cracking. “Please. Just let it go.”

“I am coming to your house,” I said.

“No, Claire, don’t come here,” he pleaded. “It isn’t safe.”

“I will be there in thirty minutes,” I said, and hung up.

I drove through the rain toward the Upper East Side.

The city lights blurred across my windshield.

My father lived in a modest brownstone that he had refused to sell even after the family business took a downturn years ago.

He had always been a proud man, obsessed with maintaining our family’s social standing.

Now, I realized that pride had a dark underbelly.

I parked a block away from his building, shielding the medical files under my coat as I stepped out into the rain.

The street was empty, the elegant townhouses dark and silent.

I walked up the stone steps of his brownstone and pressed my key into the lock.