I sat back in my chair, the metal frame squeaking against the linoleum floor.

“What do you want, Dorian?”

“I need you to check your email right now,” he said.

“I am at work,” I replied. “I do not have time for personal emails.”

“This cannot wait,” he said, his tone rising. “It is a simple waiver for your father’s old cabin in New Mexico. It just needs a digital signature.”

I looked down at the scratched green blotter on my desk.

“I know about the listing,” I said.

There was a sudden silence on the other end, save for the hum of tires on asphalt.

“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“I spoke with Mr. Voss,” I said. “I know about the Delaware corporation, and I know you forged my mother’s name on the trustee documents.”

Dorian cleared his throat, a wet, nervous sound.

“Maren, you do not understand the situation,” he said. “Your mother is behind this. We need the liquidity.”

“My mother does not even know where the cabin is,” I said. “But Brielle knows how to spend money she does not have.”