Preston found his voice at last, torn and dragged over gravel.

He braced his hands on the table as if the floor were moving. “Hannah,” he breathed. “Whose child is that?”

The question, loaded with a year of manufactured lies, made my blood run cold.

I shifted Grace, feeling the rapid flutter of her failing heart against my own.

“Her name is Grace,” I said, my voice carrying the steady weight of the truth. “And she’s your daughter.”

Marcus lunged forward, his face flushing an ugly red. “Security! Get her out of here! She’s lying — this is an extortion attempt!”