A young associate from the legal department walked in, his face white, holding a tablet.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Whitmore,” the associate stammered, looking at Margaret.

“We just received an emergency filing from the federal court.”

He stopped when he saw me standing at the head of the table.

His eyes went from me to the baby in my arms, and then to the document on his screen.

The phone on the center of the conference table began to flash red.

Margaret reached out with a hand that shook slightly, her heavy diamond rings clicking against the polished wood.

She pressed the button to answer the call.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” Margaret asked, her voice cold and sharp.

A frantic, breathless voice came through the speaker.

“Mrs. Whitmore, the Southern District has just filed an emergency injunction on behalf of Lily Whitmore,” the voice said.

“The entire trust restructuring is frozen by federal order.”

Grace walked forward, her heels tapping a steady rhythm on the polished limestone.

She placed a thick, leather-bound portfolio on the glass conference table.

“It is more than an injunction, Margaret,” Grace said.