It was Uncle Michael.

He walked with a slow, deliberate stride, his leather shoes clicking on the tile.

He looked perfectly calm, as if he were arriving for a charity board meeting.

Mara stepped in front of me, her posture rigid.

“You are not allowed in this wing, Mr. Morgan,” Mara said.

Michael did not look at her.

His eyes were fixed on me, cold and steady.

“Elizabeth,” Michael said, stopping a few feet away. “We need to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you, Michael,” I said.

“Your brother’s future is currently sitting in a very dark room,” Michael said quietly.

“He has about twelve hours before his creditors lose their patience,” Michael added.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a fountain pen.

“I have the settlement agreement right here,” he said.

“All it takes is your name,” Michael said. “And Daniel goes home safe.”

I looked at the pen in his hand, the gold nib catching the fluorescent light.

The silence in the hallway was absolute.

I did not reach for the pen.