Instead, he spoke quietly, almost gently, sliding a leather-bound folder across the polished mahogany surface between us as though he were offering me dessert rather than asking me to surrender nearly ten million dollars.
“Just sign it, Claire,” he said.
The calmness in his voice was what made my stomach tighten. Growing up, I had learned to read the subtle signals of his authority. When he was loud, things were still negotiable. When he became quiet—like now—the decision had already been made.
The folder stopped in front of my hands.
Twenty-three people were watching.
I counted them again out of habit.
Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. Two of my parents’ friends from church. Even my older cousin Nathan who rarely attended family gatherings unless food or drama was guaranteed.
