“Have you been talking to my brother behind my back?”

She took a step closer and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial hiss.

“Let’s just say he’s helped me understand your father’s true mental state during those final months.”

I gripped my shears so tightly that my knuckles turned white and my fingers began to ache.

My dad always said roses should be treated firmly but never cruelly, because even the sharpest thorns have a purpose.

“Get off my property, Tabitha,” I told her, “before I forget how to be polite to a guest.”

She let out a short, dry chuckle that grated on my nerves.

“Your property? How sweet of you to think you can keep this whole fortune for yourself while the rest of us just sit back and watch.”

“My father built every inch of this house and planted every tree with his own hands, so this isn’t just about money for me.”

“Wake up—everything in this world is about money,” she snapped back.

“Tomorrow, you’re going to learn that lesson the hard way.”