“Julian’s biological father never abandoned anyone,” I said, holding my ground by the desk.

“You built an aristocratic legacy out of an expunged desertion fraud to keep the trust paying your stipend.”

Eleanor stepped closer until the damp scent of her lavender water filled the space between us.

“Julian’s father was a penniless doctor who wanted to raise my son in a two-bedroom rented flat in Illinois.

I built the foundation that paid for his private schools, and Julian knows exactly who gave him his life.”

“Julian knows his father is alive?” I asked.