Sign the papers, sweetheart, or the twins spend Christmas with Daddy and his new

I set my keys down on the console table. Slowly. The way you set an instrument down after a long surgery. “Okay, Grant,” I said. “Let’s talk about Christmas.” Ashley snorted from the couch. Grant smirked and slid the divorce papers across the table with two fingers, like he was dealing cards. I picked them up. I read them. Then I pulled my phone out and made one call. “Hi, David. It’s Dr. Lang. Yeah — pull the funding on Meridian Capital. All of it. Effective tomorrow morning.” Grant’s smirk cracked. “What did you just say?” I set the phone down. “The anonymous investor keeping your fund alive? That was my trust. My grandfather’s trust. Forty-two million dollars I never touched because I wanted to earn my own life. I only opened it to save yours.” Ashley stopped scrolling. Grant’s face went the color of the marble. “You’re bluffing.” I slid my own folder across the table. Bank statements. Wire records. A letter from his mother — who, it turned out, had been broke for two years and too proud to tell him. “Your mother didn’t buy this house, Grant. I did. In my name. Your name isn’t on the deed, the cars, or the twins’ school accounts. My lawyer said keep it clean, just in case.” Ashley stood up very quickly and remembered she was wearing my robe. “And the twins?” Grant whispered. I smiled the way I smile at parents when the news is finally good. “They’re at my sister’s. They’ve been there since Tuesday. Because the nanny — remember the nanny you fired for ‘attitude’? — recorded the last four months of you screaming at me. Family court loves receipts.” I opened the front door. Cold December air rushed in. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart. The studio apartment’s already rented. I put your name on the lease.”