Then I looked directly at him.
“Sit down, Richard.”
The words left my mouth calmly.
That made them worse.
His eyes widened.
For seven years, I had called him Dad.
Even during arguments.
Even when he belittled me.
Even when he introduced me at business dinners as “Preston’s little homemaker.”
Calling him Richard in open court stripped away the family fiction he had spent years using as armor.
He sat.
Judge Morrison returned to the document.
“This appears to authorize the movement of approximately six hundred thousand dollars.”
“Six hundred
