The headlights of the SUV remained on, casting long, stark shadows across the lawn.

The driver’s door opened.

A figure stepped out into the rain, holding a large black umbrella.

It wasn’t Grant.

It was Helen Caldwell, her expression perfectly calm as she walked toward my window.

I kept the doors locked, my hand resting on the gear shift as she stopped a foot away.

She tapped on the glass with the silver tip of her umbrella.

I lowered the window just an inch, the cold rain spraying against my face.

“Emma,” Helen said, her voice carrying clearly over the sound of the engine. “You are making a very public mistake.”

“I have the signatures, Helen,” I said, my voice steady. “I know what Grant did.”

She smiled, a slow, thin movement of her lips that did not reach her eyes.

“What Grant did was secure the future of our family,” she said. “And if you present those papers to the board, you will only succeed in destroying your father’s memory.”

“My father had nothing to do with this,” I said.