He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a gold-plated fountain pen.

“I will wire the funds from my personal offshore account before the banks close at five o’clock,” he said.

“And what do you expect in return, Richard?” I asked.

“You sign the release forms for the partition suit,” he said, pointing the pen toward the desk. “You walk away from the property, and you take that blue folder with you.”

He leaned forward, his knuckles turning white against the desk.

“No public auction,” he said. “No court records showing the Carter family estate was liquidated to pay off a scorned wife.”

Margaret nodded quickly, her hands fluttering near her collar. “Yes, Emily. Take it. It is more than that drafty old house is worth.”

I looked at the oil painting of the Carter family crest hanging on the wall behind Richard.

The paint was starting to crack around the edges, showing the cheap canvas underneath.

“No,” I said.

Richard froze, his pen hovering an inch above a blank notepad.

“What do you mean, no?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave. “That is double the market value of your share.”