He didn’t seem to realize he had pulled it out.

His focus was entirely on me, his eyes filled with a cold, desperate anger.

“You have no idea what you are messing with,” Richard whispered.

Madison took a sharp breath, her eyes locking onto the white packet in his hand.

She made a small, choked sound in her throat.

“Dad,” she whispered. “What is that?”

Richard stiffened, realizing his mistake.

He tried to slip the packet back into his pocket, but his fingers were slick with sweat.

The paper slipped.

It fluttered through the air, landing on the polished hardwood floor between us.

For a second, nobody moved.

Then, my father’s face went entirely blank.

The paper packet lay flat against the dark oak floor.

A small tear in the corner had pinched open, spilling a tiny crescent of white, crystalline powder onto the polished wood.

My mother, Carolyn, took a slow step back, her heels clicking sharply against the silence of the room.

“Richard,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “What is that?”

My father did not look at her.

His chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow jerks.