“Then let them sanction us,” my mother said. “By the time the courts sort this out, Northline will be dead in the water.”

She was right, and the realization hit me like a physical blow.

A contested estate meant the courts could freeze the primary operational accounts of Northline Logistics.

The trucks wouldn’t run if we couldn’t pay for fuel.

The drivers wouldn’t work if their paychecks bounced.

“We will tie up every single dollar Elliot left behind,” my father said, his voice dripping with malice. “Let’s see how long your precious trucks keep moving when the bank accounts are locked.”

I looked at Malcolm.

His face had gone pale, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He knew as well as I did how fragile the company’s current financial situation was.

We were operating on thin margins, relying on daily cash flow to keep the regional hubs running.

If my parents filed for an injunction, a judge might grant a temporary restraining order on the accounts just to preserve the status quo until a hearing could be held.

That temporary freeze would destroy us in less than a week.