He was breathing hard, his voice tight and breathless, the way he sounded when he was hiding in the closet as a child.

“I just spoke with Michael,” I said.

I walked to the kitchen and leaned my good shoulder against the cold refrigerator door.

“He was just at my apartment, Daniel.”

There was a long silence on the line, filled only with the faint static of the connection.

“What did he tell you?” Daniel asked.

“He told me that you are very loyal to this family,” I said.

I picked up a glass from the counter, but my hand was shaking, so I set it back down.

“He said your financial survival depends on it.”

Daniel let out a sharp, ragged breath.

“You don’t understand the pressure I’m under, Liz.”

“Tell me what you did,” I said.

My voice remained flat, empty of the anger that was beginning to warm my chest.

“Patricia was out of her mind,” Daniel said quickly, the words tumbling over one another.

“When that rejection letter came from Georgetown, she lost it.”

“She threw a wine bottle at my head, Daniel,” I said.