“Julian, tell them!” Harper cried, her voice breaking into a ragged sob.

“Tell them it was a loan to the investment firm!

Tell my sister!”

Julian kept his eyes locked on the frozen gravel of the driveway.

He didn’t say a word.

“He can’t tell them that, Harper,” I said, turning to face my sister.

“Because the contract receipts carry your business tax identification number on page two.”

Harper went rigid, her hands falling away from Julian’s sleeve.