My blood ran cold.

The draft accused me of using my family’s immense influence to kidnap our newborn daughter from the hospital.

It painted Nolan as a devastated, hard-working father blocked by corporate lawyers.

There was a quote from his attorney, hinting at my supposed mental instability during the pregnancy.

I stared at the words, my jaw clenching.

He was trying to preemptively poison the public narrative before I could file for divorce or report the forgery.

“He’s playing dirty,” a voice said from the doorway.

I turned to see my father standing there, holding two cups of tea.

He walked over and set one down beside my laptop.

He looked over my shoulder at the screen.

“He wants a public fight,” my father said softly. “He thinks the threat of scandal will make us settle.”

“I won’t let him use Maisie like this,” I said.

“He won’t,” my father replied. “But you must be prepared for what comes next.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Marjorie,” he said. “She was spotted at the hospital administration office this morning.”

I frowned. “Why would she be there? I was already discharged.”