It contained a list of dates, bank names in the Cayman Islands, and twelve-digit account numbers.

At the bottom was a list of cash amounts totaling over four hundred thousand dollars.

Beside each amount was Daniel’s initials.

“My Lord,” my mother whispered, her hand rising to her mouth. “He hid all of this.”

“While he claimed he was bankrupt,” I said, my voice cold.

“This is what he used to pay his lawyer,” she said. “And to try and take Nolan away.”

“He wanted to starve us out,” I said. “He wanted me to look unfit because I couldn’t afford a lawyer.”

I folded the paper carefully and placed it in my pocket.

“I have to call Renee,” I said.

“And your attorney,” my mother added.

“Yes,” I said. “Both of them.”

The next morning, the Knoxville family court was colder than usual.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a pale glare on the oak benches.

Preston Carroway sat at the defense table, shuffling a stack of neat manila folders.

Grant sat beside him, wearing a bespoke grey suit, his hair perfectly combed.