The fire sputtered and died under the heavy cloth.

Mark lunged at me, grabbing my shoulder.

He threw me against the wooden wall.

My head hit the beam, and my vision went dark for a second.

I slumped to the floor, my hands scraping against the rough straw.

Mark stood over me, his face twisted in anger.

He raised the iron poker.

“You always were a nuisance,” he said.

“I am Abigail’s heir,” I said, looking up at him.

“She didn’t care about you,” Mark said.

“She did,” I said. “She knew what you did to my mother.”

Mark’s eyes widened.

He stopped, the poker still raised in the air.

“What did you say?” he whispered.

“She knew,” I said. “She wrote it all down.”

I looked him straight in the eyes.

“She knew you didn’t just let her die,” I said.

“You’re lying,” he said, his voice cracking.

“The medical reports are in the safe,” I said. “The real safe.”

He stared at me, his hand trembling.

The sound of tires crunching on gravel erupted right outside the barn.

Bright white light flooded through the open doors.