“Come get your worthless daughter and take her back,” my mother-in-law shouted my father as I lay broken at the bottom of the stairs after my husband shoved me down. “Your family will answer for it if she has even a scratch,” was the sole warning Dad offered her. They had no notion who my father really was, so they made fun of him.

“What did you get?” Gabriel asked.

“Everything,” I said, softly.

Again the memory shattered into fuzzy chunks.

I could remember the ledger with its big brass padlock.

I remembered Harold Sutter’s big hand covering a page to hide it.

I could see my husband standing at the window with a look of terrifying coldness in his eyes.

Then one horrible phrase echoed loudly in my head.

“You’ve signed your name on the signature page already, Rachel.”