“Hannah,” Richard Harrison said.

My breath hitched in my throat.

The voice was cold, flat, and entirely devoid of human warmth.

“Richard,” I whispered, my hand tightening around the cheap plastic of the old flip phone.

“I know my son is on his way here,” Richard said, his voice coming through the static.

“Leave him alone,” I said, my voice shaking. “He has nothing to do with your legacy anymore.”

A dry chuckle came through the receiver.

“He is a Harrison, Hannah,” Richard said. “He belongs to this family, whether he likes it or not.”

I heard a rustling sound on the other end of the line.

“I am going to set this phone on my desk,” Richard said. “I want you to listen very carefully to what happens next.”

“Why?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Because you need to understand that you cannot win,” he said. “None of you can.”

There was a soft click, and then the sound of the phone being placed on a hard surface.

The audio quality changed, turning hollow and distant, as if he had put me on speaker.