“Notes can be amended,” Michael said. “Careers can be redirected.”

The threat was quiet, almost polite, but it settled in my stomach like lead.

“Leave her out of this,” I said, stepping between them.

“Then sign,” Michael said.

I looked at the document in his hand.

I saw the legal terms printed in neat black ink, the lines for our signatures waiting at the bottom.

It was a contract designed to erase my pain, to make the blood on the dining room floor disappear as if it had never been spilled.

They wanted to buy my silence with my brother’s safety.

“No,” I said.

Michael’s hand did not shake.

“Are you certain, Elizabeth?” he asked. “Consider the consequences for Daniel.”

“Daniel is thirty-four years old,” I said. “If he went to those men, he has to face them. I will not let Patricia escape what she did.”

Michael stared at me for a long moment.

The calm on his face did not crack, but his eyes grew colder, turning the color of wet slate.

“You always were the difficult one,” he said. “Your father thought it was strength. I always knew it was just stubbornness.”