Adrian took a step closer to his mother, his face pale under the stained-glass light.

“Mother, what is he talking about?” Adrian demanded.

Margaret did not look at him. “And the credit lines?” she asked the phone.

“Suspended,” Marcus said. “Because your personal accounts are secured against those specific voting shares, the treasury system flagged them as disputed. All secondary lines of credit under Adrian’s name are frozen.”

Adrian reached out and grabbed Margaret’s wrist.

“That is impossible,” Adrian said, his voice rising, echoing off the high stone arches of the chapel. “I am the sole heir to the estate.”

“Not anymore,” I said.

I stood my ground beside Grace Monroe, my hands clasped in front of my dark woolen coat.

Grace adjusted her glasses, her face an unreadable mask of professional calm.

“The Whitmore Family Trust is very specific, Mr. Whitmore,” Grace said. “The moment a legitimate first-born heir is biologically verified, the transfer of voting power is instantaneous.”

“She is not legitimate,” Adrian hissed, pointing a finger at me. “We were divorced before she was even born.”