“But I can still destroy the Westbridge name,” Margaret said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.

She took a step toward Julian, her fingers twitching against her purse strap.

I stood up from my chair, my hands pressing hard against the cold wood of the desk.

“The child is mine, Margaret,” I said. “And you have nowhere left to hide.”

Margaret turned to face me, a cold, mocking smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Outside, the gray Denver sky began to spit sleet against the windowpane.

Ethan sat in his chair, his head buried in his hands, weeping silently.

Olivia stared at Margaret, her breathing coming in short, panicked gasps.

She looked like she was about to run from the room.

Julian reached into his folder and pulled out another document.

He held it out, but he did not give it to anyone yet.

“There is one more thing,” Julian said, his eyes locking onto mine.

We all watched his hand.

The paper in his grip fluttered slightly in the draft from the hallway.