Martina looked past Patricia’s shoulder, her eyes lingering on Vance.

“Who is that?” Martina asked.

“Just Mr. Vance,” Patricia said, smoothing down Martina’s hair with a hand that looked entirely too practiced. “He is helping me organize the seating chart for the charity gala next month.”

Vance offered a polite, distant nod.

“Go back to bed, sweetheart,” Patricia whispered, her hand resting on Martina’s shoulder. “I will have Rosa bring some warm milk up to your room in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Martina murmured.

She turned and walked back out into the dimly lit hallway.

Patricia waited until the door clicked shut before she let the warm smile drop from her face.

She turned back to Vance, her eyes cold once more.

“We need to hurry,” Patricia said, her voice sharp. “If she starts wandering around, she might run into her father.”

“The paperwork is ready,” Vance said, pulling the blue folder out from under the blotter.

He opened it and laid three thick documents on the mahogany desk.

“This is the petition for involuntary conservation and guardianship,” Vance said, pointing to the top page. “It cites psychological instability and cognitive incompetence for both daughters.”