“His room is gone, Finnley. I remodeled the whole thing.”

Right then, her son Carter came walking down the stairs. My stepbrother—the guy who’d spent years drowning in gambling debts—smiled like he’d been waiting for this day forever.

“Well, look who it is,” Carter sneered. “The convict came back looking for his money.”

I tried to take a step forward, but Reagan immediately blocked the door.

“If you ever set foot on this property again, I’m calling the police,” she warned. “With your record, you don’t want to mess around.”

The door slammed shut in my face with a sharp click.