I walked to the heavy steel door of Room A and pulled it open.

Grant sat at the metal table, his hands cuffed to a steel ring in the center.

His expensive cashmere coat was stained with dirt and melted snow.

His hair, usually styled back, was plastered to his forehead.

He looked up, his eyes bloodshot.

“Evelyn,” he said, his voice cracking. “You have to stop this.”

I did not sit down.

I stood across from him, resting my hands on the back of the metal chair.

“It is out of my hands, Grant,” I said.

“She’s my daughter too,” he stammered, leaning forward. “You can’t keep me from her.”

“You locked her in a basement room with a woman who abused her,” I said.

My voice was flat, devoid of the anger I felt inside.

“You spent her trust fund on offshore real estate,” I said.

“Vanessa set that up,” Grant said, his hands shaking as he pulled against the chain. “She told me it was the only way to secure our future.”

“Your future is a federal facility,” I said.