Lily’s small chest rose and fell in a slow, even rhythm.

“Forgery,” Margaret whispered.

“He forged my husband’s signature on the third amendment,” I said.

My voice didn’t shake.

I had waited too many months for this moment to let my voice shake now.

“He wanted to make sure Lily and I were completely written out before he married Celeste,” I said.

“He wanted the sole voting power of the family trust.”

Margaret closed her eyes for a brief second.

The grandfather clock in the corner of her office ticked with a heavy, metallic rhythm.

Outside the high arched windows, the sky over Newport was turning the color of wet slate.

“If this goes to trial, the Whitmore name is dead on Wall Street,” Margaret said.

“The board will panic by nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“The board is already panicking,” Grace said, pulling a sheet of paper from her briefcase.

“We have already drafted the emergency resolution.”

“What resolution?” Margaret asked, her eyes narrowing.

“A complete surrender of Adrian’s shares to the estate,” Grace said.

“And a reallocation of those shares to his only legal heir.”