“Got three grand for it,” Colton replied. His voice was vibrant, laced with a cruel amusement I’d never heard.

“I told her the insurance denied the latest MRI, and she had it listed on Craigslist within the hour. My mother lives to rescue me, Marcus. It’s her whole identity. I feed her a little panic, and she bleeds cash.”

I froze, my hand hovering inches from the handle. The air in my lungs turned to ice.

“You need to accelerate the timeline, man,” the one called Marcus said. I peered through the crack. He was in a sharp, cheap suit, leaning against the windowsill, examining his cuticles. “The printing business is drowning. The creditors are circling. We need that house in Arden-Arcade liquidated.”

“I’m working on it,” Colton sighed, stretching his arms over his head, looking healthier than he had in a year. “But if I push too hard, she might ask questions. We need her to sign the Power of Attorney first.”

“Just tell her the doctors found another problem,” Marcus sneered. “Tell her you might not make it through the year. Stress the old bat out. The more frantic she is, the closer she gets to a stroke, or at least to cognitive decline. Once she’s declared incompetent — or once she just drops dead from the stress — you get the house, the life insurance, everything. We flip the property, clear the business debts, and you’re golden.”