Before the lilies had even begun to wilt, he withdrew a thick manila envelope from his tailored jacket. “Sweetheart, the insurance company and the hospital administrators are being incredibly bureaucratic. They need an emergency power of attorney to process your medical claims and handle your mother’s immediate affairs while you recover.”

It was a blatant, sloppy lie. I knew legal documents. A quick scan of the top page revealed it wasn’t a standard medical proxy. It was a comprehensive financial POA that would legally grant him total control over my mother’s private estate, my eventual recovery settlement, and—most importantly—my voting shares in Hale Development.

I let my hand tremble violently as he pressed a heavy Montblanc pen into my fingers. I hovered the nib above the signature line, panting slightly to feign exhaustion.

“Dad, I’m so tired. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

His jaw tightened, a brief flash of the tyrant beneath the tears. “Ellen, this family cannot survive this tragedy if you decide to become difficult. Just sign the damn paper so I can protect us.”

There he was, I thought. The monster beneath the mask.