Sayer sat behind the heavy mahogany desk, surrounded by stacks of legal briefs and a half-empty cup of cold coffee.

He looked up as we entered, his eyes tired behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

“You look pale, Avery,” Sayer said, standing up to adjust his tie.

“We saw Silas Vance,” I said, leaning against the edge of the desk.

“He’s working for my father, and he has my old financial records.”

Sayer sighed and rubbed his temples, his face showing every year of his long career.

“I feared as much,” Sayer said.

“Your father’s attorney filed a formal motion this morning to halt the probate process.”

“On what grounds?” Calvin asked, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“Character and financial instability,” Sayer said, pulling a document from a blue folder.

“They are alleging that Avery has a history of reckless financial behavior and cannot be trusted with the company assets.”

“They’re using my college years,” I said, my chest tightening.

“They cut me off, Malcolm. They left me with nothing, and now they’re using my struggle to take Elliot’s life work.”