“My family’s trust fund paid the down payment,” I said. “My name is the only one on the deed.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.

The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the hum of the medical equipment.

Outside, the rain continued to beat against the glass pane.

I watched him realize, piece by piece, that the foundation he had stood on for fifteen years was cracking.

“You can’t do this,” he said quietly.

“I have already done it,” I said.

The door handle clicked.

The door swung open, the heavy wood scraping against the linoleum floor.

Nathan stood in the entryway, his charcoal overcoat dark with rain.

He carried a thick leather briefcase, his knuckles white around the brass handle.

He looked at Victor first, then turned his gaze to me.

“Claire,” Nathan said, his voice flat. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Victor straightened his shoulders, trying to reclaim his posture of authority.

“What are you doing here, Nathan?” Victor asked, his voice sharp. “This is a private room.”

Nathan did not move from the doorway.