Page 57 of Playing for Keeps

I almost snort at the passive-aggressive dig but keep my face neutral. This is Emerson's moment.

"I am healthy," she responds evenly. "And happy."

Her father scoffs. "Happy? Playing nursery tunes with street children? That's hardly a productive use of your talents."

I feel my fists clench beneath the table. The smug condescension in his voice makes me want to put my fist through the screen.

"Those children deserve music education," Emerson says, her voice steady. "And I deserve to teach how I choose."

"You deserve nothing." Her father's fist hits the table. "We gave you everything—the best teachers, the finest opportunities. And you threw it all away for what? Some hockey thug and his uncouth family?"

I tense but keep silent. Tim shoots me a warning glance. This isn't about me.

"You gave me restrictions. Expectations. Control." Emerson's words flow with surprising strength. "But the Stags gave me something better—they gave me choice."

"Choice?" Her mother's laugh is brittle. "You chose to embarrass us. To destroy your father's reputation with these ridiculous allegations?—"

"The allegations," Tim interrupts smoothly, "are well-documented. Would you like to review the testimony from female musicians? The pattern of discrimination? The hostile work environment?"

Their lawyer, a rail-thin man with wire-rimmed glasses, shifts uncomfortably. "Perhaps we should discuss terms."

"Terms?" Her father's face purples. "There are no terms. She will return to New York, resume her proper place?—"

"That's not happening." Emerson's voice rings clear and strong. I've never heard her sound so certain. "I'm not your puppet anymore."

"You ungrateful—" Her father starts to rise, but their lawyer grabs his arm.

"Mr. Saltzer," the lawyer's tone is sharp. "That's enough." He turns to the camera. "My clients need to change strategy. The board's investigation is conclusive. Fighting this will only cause further damage."

Her mother's face crumples. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying it's done." The lawyer shuffles papers. "The best course now is to accept the administrative leave and focus on damage control."

Her father slumps in his chair, defeat etched into every line of his face. It's an expression I've never seen before on the rare occasions I've encountered him—the great maestro, finally conducting his last performance.

"So, this is how you end our relationship." Her mother's voice breaks. "After everything we've done for you."

"No." Emerson leans forward, and I place my hand on her back, feeling her strength. "This is how I begin my own life. Without your control, without your criticism, without your constant disapproval."

"You're nothing without us," her father spits. "Nothing."

Mom stiffens beside me, but Emerson doesn't flinch.

"I'm everything without you," she tells them. "I'm a musician who brings joy instead of pressure. I'm a teacher who builds confidence instead of fear. I'm a wife who is truly loved." She takes a deep breath. "I'm finally myself."

Tim moves to end the call, but I can't resist leaning forward into frame.

"This isn't the end," I say, looking directly at her father. "It's just the beginning of the Emerson Era."

The screen goes dark. In the silence that follows, I pull Emerson close and kiss her temple.

"You okay?" I ask softly.

She nods, a smile spreading across her face. "Better than okay."

Uncle Tim’s associate starts gathering her papers. "Well, that was productive. I'll file the cease and desist regarding the mental health allegations immediately. They won't risk any further legal exposure."

Tim looks impressed—a rare expression for him. "Well done, Emerson. I think we've seen the last of their legal maneuvers."

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