Then came the wet, distinct sound of a kiss, followed by the giggling voice of his twenty-four-year-old junior associate, Chloe.
Julian went paler than the fine china plates on the table. He scrambled to his feet, knocking his chair back with a loud clatter against the hardwood floor. “Nora! Shut that off! What the hell is wrong with you?!”
My father stood up next, his chair scraping back with violent force. “Julian… what the hell was that?”
“It’s… it’s a setup!” Julian stammered, his eyes darting frantically around the room like a trapped animal. “It’s an AI voice generator! Nora is unhinged! She’s suffering from postpartum psychosis!”
I didn’t lose my temper. I didn’t raise my voice. I simply reached into my leather portfolio resting on the sideboard and pulled out a stack of heavy, printed documents.
