The tinny voice of the customer service representative hummed through the speaker, too quiet for me to understand the words, but the tone was firm and final.

“Who authorized this?” Nathan snapped.

“Margaret Crane,” I said from the hallway.

He spun around.

“Hang up, Nathan,” I said. “She isn’t going to let them unlock it.”

Nathan ended the call without another word.

He looked at the phone in his hand as if the device itself had betrayed him.

“You locked me out of the corporate account,” he said.

“It isn’t your corporate account,” I replied. “It belongs to the Crane Development Trust.”

“I run the subsidiary, Catherine!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room.

Sloane shrank back slightly, her hand resting on the marble console table.

“The subsidiary is entirely funded by my family’s estate,” I said.

I rubbed my hand over my stomach, feeling the slight, reassuring movement of my baby girl.

“And under the terms of the trust, all funding is subject to my continued consent.”

“Your consent?” Nathan scoffed. “We are married. Everything we have is joint.”

“Not the trust,” I said.