I picked up the first page of the document.

*DECLARATION OF INCAPACITY AND TEMPORARY TRANSFER OF AUTHORITY.*

My name was printed at the bottom of the page, next to a blank line for a signature.

*Sarah Thornton, Spouse of the Trustee.*

The ink looked fresh, even in the dim light of the library lamp.

I flipped through the pages, reading the dry, legal jargon.

It was all there.

Vivian was signing over everything to Jason.

The shipping lines, the real estate holdings, the investment funds.

All because Ethan was supposedly unable to speak, unable to think, unable to fight back.

I thought of Ethan’s eyes, burning with anger in the dark bedroom upstairs.

He was alive.

He was fighting.

I set the document back down on the desk.

The fire popped, a spark flying against the wire screen.

I heard a floorboard creak behind me.

I turned around quickly, my heart jumping into my throat.

The shadow of a man was standing near the tall French doors that led to the terrace.

The curtains fluttered in the draft.

“You’re late,” a voice said.

It was Jason.