“For eight years we believed our grandchild had died, and you let us carry that grief.”

“Mother, be reasonable,” Ethan said, taking another step back up the staircase.

“Grace turned down the terms I offered her back then.

She was trying to squeeze a settlement out of the firm.”

“I signed no waiver, Margaret,” I said, looking straight at Ethan’s mother.

“And the only money Ethan ever offered me was fifteen thousand dollars in a gift basket delivered to my rental cabin four hours ago to buy my silence tonight.”

Richard stopped tapping his fountain pen against his palm.