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"The trust provisions are clear."

"Review is not the same as automatic disinheritance."

"The board retains discretion."

"Discretion," Christian says, "is still bound by fiduciary reason. Punishing seven uninvolved parties for one beneficiary's conduct is neither proportionate nor defensible."

Preston opens her mouth.

Genevieve beats her to it.

"If I may."

Every head in the room turns.

She hasn't moved from her chair near the window. One leg crossed over the other, portfolio balanced on her knee. The room goes quiet for her in a way it didn't go quiet for Preston, and I file that away.

"This is the first offense," she says. "The first beneficiary in thirty years to trigger the clause in this way."

Preston regards her carefully. "Your point?"

"My point," Genevieve says, "is that the board should consider the practical implications of dismantling all eight positions simultaneously."

She uncrosses her legs. Leans forward just slightly.

"Colston Kauffman is currently overseeing Morrison Tower, in which board member Harris's development group holds a direct interest. Everly Kauffman is coordinating the Foundation gala, which raises substantial funding for organizations represented by this board."

She pauses. Lets that land. Harris shifts in his seat.

"Zayne Kauffman is tied to multiple real estate partnerships that currently serve the trust's public image. Christian Kauffman is legal counsel on several trust-adjacent transactions already in motion."

"Removing all eight at once would not be a clean correction. It would be an amputation that damages the body performing the surgery."

No one speaks.

Preston's expression stays cool, but one of the trustees to her right glances at another— brief and involuntary.

Genevieve continues.

"I'm not suggesting the board ignore the violation. I'm suggesting the response be proportionate to the offense." Her gaze cuts to me, then back to Preston. "One sibling acted. Perhaps one sibling bears the consequence."

Silence stretches.

Then Preston closes the folder.

"We'll take a thirty-minute recess."

The hallway outside the boardroom has too much light and not enough air.

Christian starts pacing the second the door closes. Three steps one direction. Turn. Three back. His tie is loosened. His briefcase is open on the bench, legal pad already out, but I can tell by the way he's moving that the lawyer in him is running too hot to sit down.

"We can fight this," he says. "Whatever they have, we challenge the source, we challenge the process, we force disclosure—"

"They know about the contract."

"That doesn't mean the evidence survives scrutiny."

"They know about the firing. The kiss. The timeline."