“And what if I don’t sign tonight?” I asked.

Gloria reached into her leather handbag and pulled out a slim gold pen.

She tossed it onto the mahogany table next to the stack of audit papers.

“Then you will see just how quickly a mother can lose her children in Dallas County,” she said.

The grandfather clock ticked behind us in the quiet room.

Outside, a sudden gust of wind rattled the heavy glass panes of the French doors.

I reached into my pocket and turned off the recording device.

The file was saved.

I looked at the gold pen resting on the table.

“I need to think about it,” I said.

“You have until noon tomorrow,” Gloria said, her eyes narrowing.

“Not a minute later.”

She turned to Graham.

“Come, Graham.”

“Let her sit in this empty house and contemplate her choices.”

They walked toward the foyer, the heels of Gloria’s shoes clicking loudly on the hardwood floor.

The heavy front door closed with a solid, echoing thud.

The house was quiet again.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and tapped the screen.