“You have forty-eight hours of hospitality left in this family, Avery,” Victoria said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

“Sign the paper, or I’ll have Brandon change the locks on this door before sundown.”

I took the document from her hand and looked at the signature line at the bottom.

“Arthur Vance didn’t draw up this paper,” I said.

Victoria reached out and gripped the iron porch railing, her knuckles going pale against the dark metal.

“Arthur Vance works for the estate, and I run the estate,” she said.

“You take your military duffel bag and get off my property tonight if that document isn’t signed.”