His shoulders were hunched, and his feet dragged against the carpet.

I sat there for a moment, my hands flat on the table.

“He admitted it,” my father said from the window.

“On video.”

“Yes,” I said.

But I didn’t feel the rush of victory I thought I would.

I just felt tired.

The kind of tired that comes after a long day of stripping lead paint off an old cabinet.

“We have enough for the custody hearing,” Sarah said, closing her laptop.

“He’ll never get near Maisie again.”

I stood up and walked out of the conference room.

I wanted to get out of the building.

I wanted to feel the cold air on my face.

As I waited for the elevator, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, expecting another message from the nanny.

Instead, it was an email from an address I didn’t recognize.

The subject line was simply: *Sloane.*

I opened it.

There was no text in the body of the email.

Only a single attachment.

A PDF titled *The Delaware Trust_Sloane_Barrett_Nolan_Pierce_Agreement.*

I clicked on the attachment.