Travis smiled.
“Or what?”
He grabbed the front of my coat and shook me once, hard enough to make my teeth click.
“Your parents are gone, your house is worthless, and your name means nothing.”
I did not fight him.
Not yet.
Because beyond the iron cemetery gate, a black sedan had just stopped, its tires whispering against the wet gravel.
No one noticed except me.
A tall man stepped out with a leather briefcase tucked beneath one arm, followed by two men in dark suits and a woman carrying a tablet.
I recognized him at once.
Arthur Pierce, my parents’ attorney.
The only person outside our little house who had known why my father refused every fake apology, every poisonous loan, and every invitation from the Bellamys for more than twenty years.
Marjorie saw him too late.
“Who is that?” she demanded.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve.
