“It’s me finally deciding to stop believing you.” He choked on the next breath.

I bent and lifted the thick manila envelope I’d kept against the leg of my chair all evening, and I crossed to the glass coffee table and emptied it — the printed photos, the text transcripts, the financial audit, the wire receipt — and spread them where the family could see.

Renae found a sliver of voice.

“Roslyn… it isn’t what you think.” I leveled a look at her that could cut glass.

“Do not use my first name.

We are not friends.