“We were just discussing the medical records from the upstate clinic,” Richard said, turning slowly with the help of his silver-topped cane.

“The records that prove Emily’s complete instability.”

“Those records are a complete fabrication,” I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

“They have doctor signatures, Emily,” Richard said, his lips curling into a cold, thin line.

“The court does not care about your feelings; they care about licensed medical opinions.”

He tapped his cane on the Persian rug to emphasize his words.

“If those documents are released, the family court will have no choice but to place Lily in protective custody immediately.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Nathan said, taking a step toward his father.

“Try me, Nathan,” Richard whispered, his eyes gleaming with a frantic, desperate energy.

“I have spent forty years building the Whitmore Group, and I will not let a penniless girl drag our name through the mud.”

“She is my wife,” Nathan said, his voice rising, deep and resonant in the quiet room.

“And Lily is my daughter, your own blood.”

“She is a liability,” Richard snapped.