“I don’t care who you are,” Nolan said, pointing a finger at my father.

“Security is already on their way,” Nolan continued. “I have legal custody of this child, and my wife is medically unfit.”

One of the lawyers behind my father, a tall woman with her hair pulled into a tight bun, stepped forward.

She unzipped her portfolio and pulled out a single sheet of heavy bond paper.

“Mr. Pierce,” she said, her voice dry and perfectly modulated.

“I am Sarah Sterling, senior counsel for the Hartwell Civic Group,” she said.

Nolan paused, his finger still pointing in the air.

“Hartwell?” he repeated, his voice dropping an octave.

“We represent Evelyn Rose Hartwell,” Sarah said, handing him the paper.

“And by extension, the estate of Theodore Hartwell,” she added.

Nolan looked from the paper to my father, then down to me.

The silence in the room became absolute, save for the quiet hum of the neonatal monitor near the wall.

“Evelyn… Hartwell?” Nolan whispered.

He looked at the document in his hand, his eyes scanning the lines rapidly.