His defense attorney, a tall man named Miller, stood by the narrow, frosted window.

When the door clicked shut, Ethan looked up.

His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.

“Natalie,” he whispered.

I did not sit down.

I stood near the door, keeping my injured arm protected against my ribs.

“State your terms, Miller,” Vance said, pulling out a chair but remaining standing.

Miller cleared his throat and adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses.

“My client is prepared to sign a full confession regarding the financial documents,” Miller said.

“He will also provide a sworn statement and testify trial-ready against Margaret Brooks.”

“Regarding the assault?” Vance asked.

“Yes,” Miller said. “He will testify that Margaret planned to physically coerce Natalie into signing the transfer papers.”

“He will state that the hot oil was not an accident, but a deliberate act of intimidation.”

Ethan leaned forward, the metal chain of his handcuffs clinking loudly against the table.

“She forced me into this, Natalie,” Ethan said, his voice cracking.

“She said if I didn’t help her get the trust, she would cut me off completely.”