I took the mug of black coffee Thomas slipped onto the table beside me.

The hot porcelain burned against my cold palm.

“Where are the rest of Dad’s blue pocket ledgers, Victoria?” I asked.

Victoria turned her head toward me for the first time, her eyes narrowing to slits.

“Your father was a confused, sick man in his last three years, Avery.

He signed whatever Arthur put in front of him because he was too tired to fight me.”

“He wasn’t confused,” I said.