We went to my room, where the local babysitter, a quiet girl named Sarah, was reading a book on the small sofa.

Harrison was asleep in the portable crib in the corner, his small fist pressed against his cheek.

I paid Sarah, thanked her, and locked the door behind her as she left.

Lydia stood by the window, peering through the gap in the plastic blinds.

“I will be in the room right next door,” she said. “Keep your phone on your nightstand.”

“Do you think Julian will sign?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“He has no choice, Elena,” she said. “But men like Julian do not give up their money easily. He will try to find another way out first.”

She left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

I checked the lock twice, then slid the security chain into place.

The room smelled of old pine and damp carpets.

I lay down on the bed with my clothes on, staring at the textured ceiling.

Every sound outside—the wind in the pine trees, the distant rumble of the ocean—made me tense.