Her gray hair was pulled back in a tight, professional bun, and her blue eyes were sharp behind silver-rimmed glasses.

“Elias King does not lose, Ava,” Eleanor said, tapping a heavy silver pen against her desk.

“Neither do I,” I said. “Not anymore.”

“If we file this divorce petition, it is an open declaration of war,” she said. “He will try to crush you before we ever get a court date.”

“He threatened my sister’s medical care,” I said, looking her in the eye. “He thinks he owns the world. I have to fight him.”

She slid a thick stack of white papers toward me.

“Sign here,” she said, pointing to the yellow sticky tabs. “And here.”

I picked up the heavy fountain pen.

The black ink spilled onto the white paper, signing away the King name.

“It is done,” Eleanor said, taking the papers back and sliding them into a drawer. “I will have him served by noon.”

We sat in the quiet office as the radiator hissed against the morning chill.

“Now, we must prepare for his retaliation,” Eleanor said, leaning forward.