Daniel stood by the fireplace, a crystal scotch glass frozen halfway to his mouth.

Vanessa clung to his arm in a glittering cocktail dress and — once again — my grandmother’s pearls.

The guests, wealthy investors and local socialites he’d spent years courting, parted like the Red Sea as I stepped into the light.

“Emily?” Daniel croaked. He forced a nervous, patronizing chuckle for his guests. “Emily, what are you doing here? I told you, if you needed a little cash for the motel, you could just text—”

“I’m not here for cash, Daniel,” I said, my voice carrying off the vaulted ceilings. I didn’t yell. I didn’t have to.

The quiet authority in my tone made several investors exchange uneasy glances.