“And don’t protect a husband who is already dead in every way that matters.”

“Sign the papers.”

“Take your share, and let’s end this farce.”

I stared at the petition.

My father had known.

He had known about the coma, known about Jason’s plans, and he had handed me over anyway.

He had traded my life for three million dollars and a lifetime of silence.

My hand shook so violently that the papers rustled.

“I need time,” I said, my voice cracking.

“You don’t have time,” Jason said.

“The board meets tomorrow morning at nine.”

“I need your signature tonight.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy, silver pen, placing it on top of the mahogany desk.

It rolled a few inches and stopped against the edge of the white envelope.

“Sign it, Sarah,” he repeated.

Before I could answer, the heavy oak doors of the library creaked open.

The sound was sharp, cutting through the tense silence of the room.

We both turned.

A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the dim light of the hallway.

It was Mrs. Gable, the night nurse.