“That is a lie,” I said. “You didn’t care enough to call him for five years.”

“That won’t matter in a headline,” my father said, lowering his phone.

He looked at me with a cold, calculated satisfaction.

“Vance is preparing the filings now,” my father said. “He’s contacting our associates here in Denver to get a local firm on record.”

He walked over to my mother’s side, the two of them forming a solid wall across the desk.

“We are going to challenge his mental capacity,” he said. “We will drag his medical records into the public record.”

“Every prescription he took, every lapse in memory, every bad day he had,” my mother added.

“You would ruin his memory just for a payout,” I said.

“It is not a payout, Avery,” my father said. “It is our rightful inheritance, and we will not let a thief take it.”

Malcolm stood up, his tall frame casting a shadow over the desk.

“I advise you to think very carefully about your next steps,” Malcolm said. “An unfounded lawsuit will only result in sanctions.”