“This is a lie,” Matteo said, his voice sharp. “She is as sane as any of us.”

“Please step aside, young man,” Beatrice said coldly. “This is a private family matter, and a medical emergency.”

She looked at Dr. Marren and gave a sharp, downward nod.

“Take her,” Beatrice ordered.

The two orderlies took three steps forward into the room.

Their heavy rubber-soled shoes squeaked against the polished oak floor.

I felt the cold paper of my mother’s letter pressed against my palm.

I slipped it inside the inner pocket of my coat, never taking my eyes off Harrison.

“Do not touch me,” I said, backing up until my spine hit the edge of the mahogany desk.

“Vivian, please do not make this harder than it has to be,” Harrison said.

He reached out a hand, but his eyes were cold and triumphant.

“We are doing this for your own safety,” he added.

The smell of rain and damp earth drifted through the high windows.

Sloane stood near the fireplace, her fingers nervously twisting a loose thread on the gown.