It was another message from my father.

*Sarah, please. Just do what they want. They promised they would clear the debt the moment the papers are processed.*

I stared at the name on the screen.

The man who had taught me how to ride a bike.

The man who had signed my life away to save his own skin.

I deleted the message and put the phone back in my pocket.

The double doors of the library were slightly ajar.

A thin sliver of warm light spilled out onto the dark hardwood floor of the corridor.

I pushed the door open.

The room was massive, with three stories of bookshelves stretching up into the shadows.

A fire was crackling in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the leather armchairs.

On the large oak desk in the center of the room sat a thick stack of legal documents.

The manila folder was marked with the Thornton crest in gold foil.

Beside it lay a heavy silver pen.

I walked over to the desk, the sound of my heels clicking on the hardwood floor.