Ethan’s breathing was loud in the quiet room.

Outside, the rain began to fall harder, drumming against the cedar shingles above us.

“Those copies don’t mean anything without the original deed,” Ethan said. “And the original deed is going to be replaced by the one on that table.”

He stepped closer to me, the smell of stale sweat and wet wool coming off his jacket.

“Pick up the pen,” he said, his voice dropping to a low whisper.

I reached out and touched the cheap plastic pen.

My fingers were cold.

“Where is Aunt Claire now, Ethan?” I asked, looking him in the eyes. “Is she waiting down in the driveway with your friends?”

“Claire is at her townhouse,” Ethan said. “Where she belongs. She doesn’t want her hands dirty.”

“But she knows you’re here,” I said.

“She suggested it,” Ethan said, a bitter smile touching his lips. “She said you were always the stubborn one. She knew you wouldn’t give up the property without a fight.”

“So she sent you to threaten us,” Megan said.