“It proved your character to Elliot,” Malcolm said.

My mother stepped closer to the desk, her manicured hand hovering over the plastic sleeve.

“We will contest this,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet. “We will drag his name, your name, and this entire company through every court in Colorado.”

She looked at me, her gaze cold and empty.

“Everyone will know how a sick old man was manipulated by his bitter niece.”

My father reached into his coat and pulled out his phone, his thumb tapping the screen with vicious force.

“I am calling our attorneys in Phoenix,” he said, holding the phone to his ear.

The phone line clicked, the sound sharp in the quiet office.

My father held the device to his ear, his knuckles white against the black casing.

“Get me Vance,” he said into the receiver, his voice tight and demanding. “Now. I don’t care if he’s in a meeting.”

My mother did not look at him.

Her eyes remained fixed on me, wide and unblinking, like a bird of prey tracking movement in the snow.