“A daughter who turns her back on her own family over money is a very cold creature,” she whispered.

“I’m turning my back on deceit,” I said.

She opened her mouth to ask another rhetorical question, but I turned toward the open archway and walked to the east alcove.

My father was standing by the brass display case, his right thumb dragging slowly across the silver latch of his pocket watch.

He cleared his throat three times before he looked me in the eye.

“Sarah,” Arthur said softly, reaching into his inside coat pocket.