My mother-in-law burst into my penthouse waving a stack of overdue notices and screamed, “Liam, your wife hasn’t paid the property management company in six months!

“Mrs. Callahan, you walked into a private residence, demanded twelve thousand dollars from my client under false pretenses, and then witnessed your son assault her when she refused. I have every right to interfere.”

Eleanor’s eyes flicked to the folder on the kitchen island.

The blue legal folder.

Her folder now, in a way. Her reckoning.

I laid my palm flat on top of it.