My family didn’t just hold shares in hospitality. Their reach ran down into the infrastructure of the state I called home.

Maren stepped forward, her voice shaking but carrying. “She has no right to them. The contract she forced me to sign was signed under duress, and you know it.”

The second man — broad, a jagged scar under his ear — shifted his weight, hand drifting toward his lapel. The warning was silent and clear.

“The Bellmont Estate does not recognize duress, Ms. Bell,” the lead man said, terrifyingly professional. “It recognizes signatures and assets.”

He took another inch, his shoe crossing into our small perimeter, his hand extending toward the envelope.

“We require the immediate return of the documentation and the individuals listed under the secondary trust.”