The silence in the room was suffocating.

I could hear the rain tapping against the windowpane behind us.

I could smell the cheap cologne Scott had sprayed on this morning to impress his lawyer.

“Richard,” Scott whispered. “Can we win?”

Sterling looked at the bank statements.

Then he looked at the moral clause in Victoria’s folder.

He sighed, a long, deflated sound.

“It’s a high-risk trial, Scott,” Sterling said quietly. “If the judge interprets the moral clause strictly, you lose everything.”

“But five million?” Scott said, his voice trembling. “And my house?”

“It’s your choice,” Sterling said.

Scott looked across the table at me.

His eyes were dark with hatred, but beneath the anger, I saw fear.

He had never been the strong man he pretended to be.

He was just a greedy boy who had gotten lucky, and now his luck had run out.

“You planned this,” Scott said to me.

“No, Scott,” I said. “You did this to yourself.”

He reached for his pen.

His hand shook so badly he almost dropped it.

“Wait,” Kayla said, standing up. “Scott, don’t sign that! We need that money for the baby!”