It showed Megan, dressed in an expensive wool coat, carrying shopping bags and laughing as she climbed into the passenger seat of a black SUV.

There was no wheelchair, no neck brace, and no sign of the tremor she always displayed whenever our father visited.

“She’s been doing this for years, Clara,” Lauren said softly. “I couldn’t watch her do this to you anymore.”

My hands curled into fists under the table, the skin over my knuckles stretching tight.

“She just called me,” I said, looking at the video playing on a loop. “She wants forty thousand dollars, or she’s going to file a complaint with the licensing board.”

Lauren’s eyes widened. “On what grounds?”

“She knows I’ve done residential jobs without pulling permits for every minor change,” I said. “It’s standard practice for small upgrades in these old buildings, but the board takes months to investigate.”

“She’d ruin your business just for a payout?” Lauren asked.

“She’d ruin anything if it kept her from having to work,” I said.

My phone buzzed on the table between us, the screen lighting up with a text from Megan.