In the monitoring room, my father let out a quiet, ragged breath.

“Explain the clause,” Patricia commanded, leaning over the desk.

“Under the terms of the Duarte family trust, if the direct heirs are declared legally unfit before the age of twenty-five, their shares do not default to a secondary trust,” Vance explained.

“They default to the spouse,” Patricia said, a small, dark smile touching her lips.

“Precisely,” Vance said. “Or, in this case, the designated trustee named in the pre-nuptial amendment we signed last week.”

“And the medical reports?” Patricia asked.

“Dr. Sterling has already signed the evaluations for Martina,” Vance said, tapping a document with a blue seal. “He has documented her history of anxiety and panic attacks as evidence of severe emotional regression.”

My father’s hand began to tremble on the desk.

“That bastard,” my father whispered, his voice shaking with a rage he was trying to contain. “Sterling has treated my family for ten years.”

“Quiet, sir,” Ramiro whispered, keeping his hand near his holster. “We need to hear the rest.”

On the screen, Patricia picked up a fountain pen.