He walked over to the desk and picked up a tablet, tapping the screen.

“The emergency petition was filed two hours ago,” he said, turning the screen toward us.

“The judge has already signed the preliminary order for an investigation.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“On what grounds?” I whispered.

“You live in a drafty commercial loft in Brooklyn,” Harrison said, his tone conversational.

“It is filled with toxic solvents, oil paints, and unsecured heavy equipment.”

“You have no steady income, only erratic art sales.”

“And your ex-husband is a man with a highly unstable personal life.”

He looked at Jonathan with cold amusement.

“The courts do not look kindly on children being raised in a chemical-filled warehouse by an unstable mother,” Harrison added.

“You bastard,” Jonathan growled, taking a step toward him.

“Careful, Jonathan,” Harrison said, raising a finger. “I have security on this floor. And I have the press on speed dial.”

“If you leak this evidence to the SEC, I will leak the custody filings to every tabloid in the country.”

“They will paint your lovely ex-wife as an unfit, negligent bohemian.”