Arthur had never been supporting this family. He’d been quietly liquidating it, asset by asset, to service Ryan’s gambling debts.

Megan didn’t know. None of them knew.

If that ledger ever saw daylight, my father wouldn’t just be ruined. He’d go to federal prison for wire fraud, and Ryan would be left standing in front of the men he’d been paying with my stolen inheritance.

That was why they were on my porch at two in the morning. That was why Arthur had spent his afternoon forging a psychiatrist’s signature. They’d tracked the package.

They knew the bomb had been delivered to my door, and they had to tear the house apart and find it before I understood what I was holding.

They weren’t here to save me.