“This is absurd. Everything she owned should be inventoried through the family office.”
Harlan’s voice cools.
“The family office has been locked out pending succession changes.”
I could almost smile.
Not because anything about this is funny.
But because each time Ethan reaches for authority, he finds only air.
The meeting adjourns after that in a blur of paper. Harlan places folders in front of me, explains immediate injunction options, outlines emergency steps for corporate transition, and asks if I would prefer private security for the next week. I answer somehow. I sign where he indicates. Ethan says little. Lauren says less.
By the time I leave the conference room, my whole body feels carved hollow and filled with static.
The elevator ride down is silent.
I stand beside Harlan while Ethan and Lauren wait at the far end, and the mirrored walls return all four adults in doubled reflections. It looks like a morality play staged in chrome. The grieving wife. The disgraced husband. The mistress clutching the baby. The lawyer holding a folder thick enough to alter bloodlines.
When the doors open to the lobby, Ethan finally speaks.
“Claire.”
I stop but do not turn immediately.