“A jury will have to decide that,” Sterling said. “And by the time they do, your reputation as a lawyer will be completely destroyed. You will never practice law in this state again.”

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice steadying.

“Drop the charges,” Sterling said. “Sign the waiver of liability, and we can settle the trust division quietly, out of court.”

I looked down at my hands.

The bandages were thick, hiding the red, blistering burns Margaret had given me with the scalding oil.

I remembered the smell of the burning oil.

I remembered her face as she did it—there was no accident in her eyes, only malice.

They thought I was weak because I had suffered.

They thought my silence could be bought with the threat of public shame.

They didn’t know about the hard drive.

They didn’t know about the tiny, button-sized audio recorder I had hidden in the kitchen molding three years ago, or the files I had meticulously saved to a secure cloud server every Sunday night.

“Mr. Sterling,” I said, my voice cold and clear.