He turned back to Grant, the gavel resting in his hand.

“I’m going to ask you one question, Mr. Bellamy. And before you answer, know that I am prepared to order a forensic audit of your finances, your communications with Oakridge Management, and your transactions with Mr. Abernathy. So think carefully. Are you prepared to continue with this petition for custody?”

Grant looked at his lawyer. Carroway stared straight ahead, abandoning his client to the fire.

Grant’s shoulders slumped. The architecture of ruin he’d spent two years building had just collapsed on top of him, brought down by an eight-year-old boy with a blue marker and a fierce sense of justice.

“No, Your Honor,” Grant whispered, barely audible. “I withdraw the petition.”

“Wise,” Judge Harlan said coldly. He didn’t waste another second on Grant. He turned to me, his expression softening into respect.