It echoed off the high plaster ceilings, making me sound frantic.

Rylan nodded slowly, as if I had just proven his point.

“Listen to yourself,” he said softly.

“You’re completely out of control.”

I looked past him at his mother, who was now carrying her second bag into the room.

My grandmother’s room.

The room where she had spent her final days, surrounded by her hand-carved cherry wood furniture.

“You need professional help, Calla,” Rylan said, his voice dripping with false concern.

“I’ve been talking to people about how to handle this.”

“About how to handle me?” I asked, cold dread pooling in my stomach.

“We have to protect ourselves,” he said.

“We have to protect our investments.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

The screen lit up with a bright blue glow, reflecting in the polished surface of the kitchen counter.

A notification showed an email from a sender I did not recognize.

I saw the words *Retainer Agreement* in the preview text.

Rylan quickly turned the screen away, but he didn’t put the phone back in his pocket.