“Let them have the trust. Let them have the estate. Just let me keep my daughters.”

“If you sign this, Emily, you lose everything,” Richard said gently.

“Once she has custody, she will find a way to cut you out completely.”

“She will alienate them from you.”

“I can’t risk losing them tomorrow morning, Richard.”

“We are not giving up,” he said.

The headlights of a car swept across the wet driveway outside.

A moment later, Nora Singh walked through the front door.

She was carrying a leather briefcase, her dark hair damp from the rain.

She looked determined, her sharp eyes scanning the room.

“I saw the courier leaving,” Nora said, dropping her briefcase on a chair.

“What did they send?”

Richard handed her the papers.

Nora stood by the table, flipping through the pages with practiced speed.

She paused at the psychiatric report.

“Dr. Sterling,” she muttered, her eyes narrowing.

“I know of him. He is a high-priced psychiatrist who caters to the Greenwich elite.”

“He’s Margaret’s personal doctor,” I said. “He never treated me for psychosis.”

“But he did treat you for grief,” Nora said.