“The one regarding the Ralston Trust’s charitable foundation,” I said. “The one your mother has been using as a personal piggy bank for the last six years.”

Gloria’s face drained of what little color it had left.

She looked at the paperwork on the table, then at me, her mind clearly racing to find a way out.

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed four times, the deep tones echoing through the high ceilings of the house that was no longer theirs.

Gloria took a deep breath, her shoulders dropping as she tried to force a tight, artificial smile onto her face.

“Jocelyn, darling,” she said, her tone suddenly shifting, dropping the venom for a sickeningly sweet warmth. “Let us not do anything rash.”

She stepped closer, reaching out to touch my arm, but I stepped back before her hand could make contact.

“We are reasonable people,” Gloria said, her eyes gleaming with a desperate, calculating light. “Surely we can reach an understanding that benefits everyone.”

I watched her face closely, recognizing the shift in her tactics.

“What kind of understanding, Gloria?” I asked, keeping my voice flat.