I heard him draw in a sharp breath.

“The Hartwell estate?” he asked, the confidence suddenly draining from his voice.

“Yes,” I said. “And we are going to audit every single one of your accounts.”

I hung up before he could respond.

I looked at my father.

“He’s desperate,” my father said.

“He’s going to release that press draft,” I said. “He has nothing left to lose.”

“Then we must give him something else to worry about,” my father said.

He stood up and walked to the door.

“I’ll have our legal team file the emergency custody petition immediately,” he said. “We will block him from coming near this property.”

After he left, the room fell quiet again except for the crackle of the fire.

I stood up and walked to the crib, looking down at my daughter.

“I will protect you,” I whispered.

Suddenly, the screen of my laptop flashed.

An incoming email from an encrypted address appeared.

The subject line was simply: *Sloane.*

I clicked it open.

Inside was a single PDF file, and a short message.