I looked at the altar, then at the faded wooden pews where my mother had sat.

This place was the only thing I had left of my childhood.

I was not going to let them burn it down for a row of luxury condominiums.

“They won’t sign anything,” I said.

“What is your plan, Evelyn?” Julian asked, his brow furrowing.

“We need a full forensic audit of these documents first.”

“My contact at the state attorney’s office can have a certified report ready by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Can we get the police involved?” Pastor Whitcomb asked.

“Yes,” Julian said. “But we need to present the evidence clearly.”

“If we move too fast, Graham might empty the remaining accounts and flee.”

I looked at Marjorie.

She was watching us, her expression calculating, trying to find a weak spot in our defense.

“We don’t go to the police yet,” I said.

“We let Graham think he is winning.”

“We let him think we are defeated.”

“What are you going to do?” Marjorie asked, her lips curling into a tight, thin smile.

“I am going to give him exactly what he wants,” I said.