I looked at the woman who had tried to buy my daughter.

I felt no anger, only a deep sense of pity.

“My daughter is not for sale, Evelyn,” I said. “And neither am I.”

I turned my back on her and walked up the steps to my porch.

I heard the car engine rev, and she drove away, tires crunching on the gravel.

I went inside and locked the door, but my hands were steady.

I called my lawyer, who immediately contacted the federal prosecutor to report the interaction.

A week later, Nathan came over with a bottle of wine and a box of takeout.

We sat on my small sofa, a single lamp illuminating the room.

“My attorney told me about Evelyn,” Nathan said, pouring two glasses of wine.

“She wanted to buy my silence,” I said.

“You handled it well,” he said. “The federal government is indicting Grant tomorrow morning.”

I took a sip of the wine, letting the warmth settle in my chest.

“What will happen to him?” I asked.

“He will likely spend several years in prison,” Nathan said. “The evidence of fraud is overwhelming.”