“I know, Avery,” Sayer said gently.

“But Vance is thorough, and he is ruthless.”

He laid a copy of a court summons on the desk.

“He’s already contacted the property manager of your old apartment complex on Logan Street.”

“And he’s spoken to the bank that held your vehicle loan before it was repossessed.”

I sat down in the leather chair opposite the desk, my knees suddenly weak.

Every mistake I had ever made in those desperate years was being dragged into the light.

“This isn’t just about the probate court, is it?” I asked.

“No,” Sayer said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Silas Vance has deep connections with several independent business journalists in the city.”

“If this gets out, it won’t just affect the lawsuit,” I said.

“It will affect our contracts,” Calvin said from the door.

“The hospital group,” I realized, the cold knot in my stomach tightening further.

“Exactly,” Sayer said.

“Saint Jude Memorial and the state clinics represent sixty percent of our medical logistics business.”

“They have strict moral and financial stability clauses in their service agreements.”