Page 56 of Playing for Keeps

Mom leans forward. "The jurisdiction itself poses a problem for them. You have established residence in Pennsylvania."

"They claim I'm only here temporarily," Emerson says quietly. "That I was...taken advantage of during a mental health crisis."

My jaw tightens. "That's bullshit."

"Of course it is," Mom agrees smoothly. "Which is why we've gathered substantial evidence of your independence and capacity."

Tim's associate distributes thick folders to each of us. I open mine to discover affidavits from Scale Up, testimonials from Emerson's students, and a note from Emerson’s therapist.

"We also have documented evidence of your father's controlling behavior and retaliation," Tim adds.

"The symphony board is cooperating fully," Mom notes. "With us. Not him."

I squeeze Emerson's hand under the table as she emits a low, shocked sound. "See? We've got this."

Tim adjusts his glasses. "There's something else you should know." His expression softens – a rare sight. "Your father's position with the symphony is becoming increasingly precarious. The administrative leave may become permanent."

Emerson blinks. "What does that mean for their case?"

"It means they likely don't have the resources for a prolonged legal battle," Mom explains. "Conservatorship cases are expensive, especially when contested."

I lean back, processing this. "So you're saying they're bluffing?"

"I'm saying they're desperate," Tim corrects. "Which makes them dangerous but also vulnerable."

Mom exchanges a look with Tim. "We think it's time to go on the offensive."

One of the associates who helped prepare my contract with the Fury earlier this year slides a document across the table. "We're proposing a cease and desist with very specific terms. They must drop all proceedings, agree to no contact without your explicit consent, and we won't pursue a harassment suit that would further damage your father's reputation."

I watch Emerson's face as she reads the document. She's been so worried about my career taking hits that she hasn't fully processed what her father stands to lose.

"They won't agree to this," she says finally.

"They will if they're smart," Tim replies. "Your father's future depends on rehabilitating his image. A prolonged legal battle with his 'mentally unstable' daughter won't help that cause."

I shift in my seat. "What about our marriage? They're using the Vegas thing against us."

"Already handled," Mom smiles. "I've arranged for Judge Hernandez to officiate a legal ceremony next week. Unless you’d like me to do it.”

"You can do that?" Emerson asks.

Mom winks. "There are advantages to twenty years on the bench, dear."

I feel the knot in my chest loosen for the first time since the letter arrived. We have a plan, we have power, and we have family.

"What do we do now?" I ask.

"First," Tim says, checking his watch, "we have that video conference call with the Saltzers and their counsel in five minutes." My stomach tightens. Tim nods to an assistant hovering in the doorway. "Set up the zoom machine."

As the large screen on the wall flickers to life, I try not to laugh at my Uncle’s attempt at a technology joke. I move closer to Emerson, watching her gather herself. She straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin—little movements transforming her from the woman who once flinched at confrontation to someone ready for battle.

"You don't have to say anything," I whisper. "Tim and Mom can handle this."

Emerson shakes her head. "No. I need to speak for myself. That's the whole point."

The screen splits to reveal Emerson's parents and their lawyer in a sterile white conference room in New York. The contrast between our spaces couldn't be more stark. Her mother's pearls gleam against her silk blouse, while her father's face is already reddening above his perfectly knotted tie.

"Emerson." Her mother's voice is clipped. "You look... healthy."

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