Eleanor sat in the second row, wearing a simple black coat.

She looked smaller now, stripped of the expensive jewelry and silk scarves she used to wear.

But her shoulders were straight, and she met my gaze with a steady nod.

Gregory’s defense attorneys sat at the opposite table, their heads bowed as they reviewed the asset seizure orders.

Gregory himself was absent, remaining in federal custody down the hall.

The receiver continued reading the list of seized properties, including the San Francisco penthouse and the Napa valley vineyard.

Denise’s personal accounts had been frozen as well, her prenuptial agreement rendered useless by the criminal indictment.

Every dollar Gregory had accumulated by burying my father’s whistleblowing legacy was being systematically reclaimed by the state.

“And the motion for the name change?” the judge asked, turning her attention to my attorney.

“We have the signed affidavits and the birth certificate, Your Honor,” my attorney said, handing up a folder.

The judge opened the folder and read the document.

“Natalie Richards,” she read aloud, then looked up at me.

“I am reclaiming my father’s name,” I said, standing at the microphone.