“She was begging for help,” Ethan said, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself.

“She was a liability,” Richard said.

Outside, a heavy gust of wind rattled the metal frame of the window behind us.

The draft hit the back of my neck, making me shiver in my thin woolen cardigan.

“We were three weeks away from the lock-up period ending on the initial public offering,” Richard continued.

“A bastard child with a girl from the south side would have destroyed the valuation.”

Ethan’s chest rose and fell in short, jagged movements.

“She didn’t want money, Richard,” Ethan whispered. “She wanted me to know about our daughter.”

“And if you knew, you would have run off to play family,” Richard said.

“The underwriters would have pulled out the moment the tabloids got hold of the story.”

“So you rejected the petition from the trust,” Ethan said.

“I vetoed it under executive authority,” Richard said. “It was a business decision.”

I looked down at my own hands, my nails bitten down to the quick from hours of waiting.