I did not cry or raise my voice, because something colder than anger settled inside my chest and spread through my body. I sat on the edge of our bed in our house in Highland Park, Dallas, staring at my wedding ring like it belonged to someone else.
I ended the call silently and walked into the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of water with steady hands even though my mind felt like it was flashing with warning lights. Then I picked up my phone again and called my father.
“Paige, is everything alright?” my father answered immediately, his voice calm and attentive as always.
“Dad, destroy him,” I whispered, and even I was surprised by how steady my voice sounded.
There was a brief silence before he responded, and when he spoke again his tone had shifted into the same controlled authority he used in his business meetings in downtown Dallas.
“Are you absolutely certain about what you are asking me to do?” he asked carefully.