Tonya could tell Kelner was about to give her a lecture about her volume or tone. She knew she wasn’t doing a good job of keeping it level. But she also was aware that closing the account breached every agreement they’d ever had. She’d been wronged—multiple times. Her tone should be self-righteous.

“No matter what happens,” Tonya said through gritted teeth. “When we worked out this deal, that was the caveat, right? No matter what happens, I don’t tell anyone who he is—I don’t explain how he manipulated me and lied and cheated—and he pays his child support with a bit extra thrown in for pain and suffering. That’s the deal.”

“Ms. Sayre, we don’t need to relitigate prior matters. Please calm down.”

Tonya grabbed her thigh with her free hand and squeezed, containing her anger the same way she might a muscle cramp. “Layla’s money needs to be restored immediately.”

The attorney cleared his throat. “The problem is that, from an outside perspective, it was never clearly Layla’s money in the account.”

“Come on, you—”

“Though the account is run for her benefit, it is not a trust fund,” Kelner said. “That’s an important distinction. If it were a trust account, the funds could not be released until Layla came of age. The account in question was a standard checking account for expenses related to Layla’s care. And, as you know, Layla’s father had some concerns that the money might be misappropriated—”

Tonya squeezed her thigh harder. “I don’t spend my daughter’s money on anyone or anything unrelated to Layla’s care.”

“Again, Ms. Sayre, please calm down and let me finish.” Kelner’s voice was now the one that was elevated. “There were concerns that the childcare payments could be used for your personal expenses, so we all agreed on an arrangement of setting up an account, controlled by Layla’s father, from which your rent would be withdrawn as well as the quarterly stipend you’ve referenced. Layla’s father always had access to the money and could close the account at any time. And he did.”

If she hadn’t been so close to screaming, Tonya might have laughed at the lawyer’s careful use of pronouns and possessives. They’d gone to such lengths to hide Layla’s parentage that the attorney didn’t even want to utter his name. He was the Candyman or Voldemort, the man so powerful and evil that you didn’t dare call him.

“He.” Tonya stressed the word to show that she was aware of what the attorney was doing, even as she also refused specifics. Layla was right outside and, by and large, eleven-year-olds possessed excellent hearing. “He must pay the agreed upon child support. What did he think? That if he had a rough twelve months he could snatch his daughter’s money to make up the difference?”