The polished wood reflected the dim amber light of the desk lamp, casting long shadows across the floor.

On the corner lay the folder of Claire’s medical records, the edges slightly frayed from where Ethan had gripped them.

The papers looked ordinary, yet they held enough secrets to alter the course of several lives.

“Can he actually do it?” I asked.

“Can he just take them away?”

Ethan finally looked up at me.

His dark eyes were bloodshot, surrounded by deep, purple shadows of exhaustion that no amount of wealth could hide.

“In this state, a formal report of neglect from a credible business partner carries immediate weight,” he said.

He rubbed his face with both hands, his palms making a dry, scraping sound against his stubble.

“If they open an emergency investigation, they have the authority to remove the children temporarily while they assess the home.”

“But there is no neglect,” I said.

I thought of the clean, quiet nursery upstairs where the four infants lay.

I thought of the sterile bottles, the soft, folded blankets, and the careful schedule we maintained.