The recording crackled, then a familiar voice filled the conference room. Colton’s. “Just sign the shop over to me now, Amos. She’s going to get it anyway, and she’ll do whatever I tell her. If she argues, Mom knows a doctor who’ll say she’s too emotional to manage money.” Then my father’s voice, slow and steady. “You know I’m recording this, son?”

That was when Colton jumped out of his chair. “Turn that off!” Gideon Pratt didn’t move. He let the recording finish. Patrice had gone white beneath her powder. Then Gideon slid a thick envelope across the table toward me. “Your father asked me to give you this first,” he said, “before I read a single word of his will.” Inside was a credit report, with my name at the top and two loans I had never opened.