“I do,” I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through me.

“You have no authority here, Hayes,” Richard hissed, struggling against his son.

Nathan did not let go.

His knuckles were white against his father’s expensive wool coat.

“Actually, Richard, I do,” Mr. Hayes replied calmly.

He pulled a manila folder from his briefcase and laid it flat on the table.

“As the administrator of the Whitmore family trust, it is my duty to ensure the true line of succession is preserved.”

He looked at Nathan, then at me, and finally at the panoramic window where the Manhattan skyline was shrouded in gray mist.

The rain was tapping hard against the glass.

“The documents Emily holds are the original, unamended terms of the trust,” Mr. Hayes said.

“They were drafted before you altered the corporate structure to exclude Nathan’s heirs.”

Richard’s face turned a deep, mottled red, his veins bulging at his temples.

“She’s a liar!” Richard shouted, his voice echoing off the glass walls.

“She fabricated those papers! Nathan, release me this instant!”

Nathan’s voice was low and steady, though I could see the pain in his eyes.