Flynn was there, leaning against the staircase, watching.

And the demand was simple, and they repeated it while they hurt me: sign over your shares, withdraw your complaint about the missing money, and perhaps this family can find a way to forgive you.

Forgive me.

For discovering their crime.

That was the word Fiona used, crouched beside me on the floor — forgive — as though I were the one who had done something that required it.

I reached for my phone at one point, and Flynn stepped on it, and the screen went to pieces under his shoe.