James’s POV
Marcus O’Connor always knew how to weaponize a smile.
He stood in the glass-walled lobby of his downtown firm with one hand tucked into his pocket and the other extended in mock civility.
“James,” he said. “You’ve been avoiding your family.”
I didn’t shake his hand.
“I came for one reason,” I said. “And it’s not reconciliation.”
Marcus smiled, slow and practiced. “Then let’s talk upstairs.”
Melinda didn’t move beside me.
Not until we stepped into the elevator.
Then she turned, her voice low. “Why guardianship? What could he possibly gain from filing that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But if it involves the trust, it’s not about care. It’s about control.”
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
I could see it in her eyes — the same fire I’d seen in court, on job sites, in e
