“No,” she whispered. “I didn’t sign anything about the property.”

Robert let out one quiet, dangerous breath. “Good.”

He pulled out his phone and made three quick calls.

The first was to his private physician. “My daughter has been assaulted. Come to Sarah’s apartment now. Bring documentation equipment and cameras, prepare a full report.

No hospital record yet.”

The second was to an attorney named Evelyn Ward. I knew that name well — Evelyn had been Robert’s ruthless lawyer during our divorce, a woman with silver hair, bold red lipstick, and the sharp smile of someone who had never lost a courtroom.