They’ve suspended his clinical privileges. He’s locked out of his office, and Khloe’s internship is frozen pending review.”

“And the assets?”

“He’s scrambling like a rat on a sinking ship. He tried to liquidate your townhouse, but the court seized it yesterday. He has no liquid cash, and the feds are demanding he repay three years of fraudulent research grants.”

“Serve him the court summons in the hospital’s main lobby,” I said. “Make it public.”

A knock echoed. The heavy oak doors opened, and Harrison Sterling stepped in—charcoal bespoke suit, no tie, the relaxed and terrifying aura of a man who ran things.

His dark eyes assessed me not as a broken woman but as a general sizing up a peer.