Standing in the doorway was a tall man in a gray suit, holding a leather folder and a small black remote. Mom’s face emptied of color. “Mr. Sterling?” Dad whispered. “I was Grandpa’s attorney for thirty years,” the man said calmly. “He asked me to wait in his study until you proved his point.” Courtney stomped down the stairs with paint swatches in her hand and froze halfway when she saw him.

He pressed the remote, and the television in the study flickered on. Grandpa appeared on the screen, thin but steady, sitting in his old armchair. “If you are watching this,” he said, “then you came back with a truck, and Hannah did not argue.” Mom took a step toward the door. “Before anyone touches another box, let me tell you what you did nineteen years ago, and what I have kept in this house ever since.”