Susan gasped theatrically. “You starved her, didn’t you? Withheld her medication to get to the money faster!”

The audacity of it — twenty years of my grueling, selfless caregiving turned into a weapon against me — made me physically ill.

Vance slid a drafted lawsuit across the table with a slap. “Return the passbook, waive your rights to the estate, and sign the divorce papers giving Mark the house. Do that, and we bury this. Refuse, and you’ll rot in a federal prison.”

I looked at the document. I looked at Mark, who couldn’t meet my eyes. Then I looked directly into Richard’s sweating face.

“I decline.”

His face twisted. “What did you say? You think a murderer gets to negotiate?”