Arthur took a step forward, his hand coming out of his pocket, but Callum pulled out a folded piece of heavy bond paper.

He threw it onto the bed. It landed near my knees.

“What is this?” I asked.

“It is a voluntary custody agreement,” Callum said. “It gives me full legal and physical custody of the child the moment he is born. It also includes a non-disclosure agreement regarding all Prescott Global assets.”

“I am not signing that,” I said.

“You will,” Callum said. “If you don’t, I will file an emergency petition declaring you mentally unfit. I have three different doctors ready to sign the affidavits. Whitaker wasn’t the only one on my payroll, Avery.”

“You are lying,” I said. “No reputable doctor would risk their license now. Not after what happened to Whitaker.”

Callum leaned over the foot of the bed. His face was pale, and I could smell the faint scent of scotch on his breath.

“You underestimate what people will do when they are offered enough money,” he said. “Or when they are threatened with ruin. I built this family’s legacy. I am not letting a secretary’s daughter tear it down.”