“What are you going to do, Avery?” he asked. “Call the police?”

“I don’t need to,” I said.

“There’s no one out here,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, menacing purr. “Just us.”

He lifted the paper from the table.

The yellowed note looked incredibly thin in his large, calloused hand.

“You always thought you were Elliot’s favorite,” my father said. “But Elliot was a fool. And so are you.”

He moved his hand toward the open fireplace, the flames licking at the soot-stained brick.

“Richard!” my mother cried out, taking a step forward.

“Shut up, Eleanor,” he snapped, his eyes fixed on the fire.

I stood perfectly still, watching him.

My heart was hammering against my ribs, but I kept my face expressionless.

He held the paper just inches from the rising heat of the flames.

“This is the only thing keeping us from taking everything,” he said. “Once this is gone, you have nothing.”

“Go ahead,” I said softly.

He paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me.

“You’re bluffing,” he said.

“Burn it,” I repeated. “See what happens.”