The day my mother-in-law died, my husband didn’t cry. Instead, he pulled out his cell phone, pointed the camera at my face, and said, “Isabel, repeat after me: you gave her the broth.”

If Richard wasn’t Eleanor’s biological son, who was? And who was the other baby?

“You think you’re saving yourself, Richard,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady, masking the terror consuming my soul. “But Eleanor already talked to a law firm. She sent a manila envelope. The truth is already out there.”

“The firm on Broadway?” Richard chuckled, a dry, hollow sound. “Old man Sterling retired last month, Isabel. His son took over the practice. And his son owes me more money than this apartment is worth. That envelope? It’s already been shredded. There is no paper trail left. Except for whatever garbage you’ve collected in that folder.”

He took another step. He was only five feet away now. I could smell the stale coffee and the cold sweat radiating off him.

“I’ll give you the folder,” I said quickly, holding up a hand. “I’ll give you everything. Just let me call my kids. Let me hear their voices.”

Richard hesitated, his eyes narrowing. He looked at Chloe, who nodded frantically. “Let her call them, Richie. Let’s just end this.”

Richard slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He dialed a number, put it on speaker, and held it up.

It rang once. Twice. Three times.

“Hey, Dad!” Ethan’s voice boomed through the speaker, sounding entirely normal, entirely oblivious. “We’re just leaving the place on Ditmars. Uncle Marcus is taking us to the arcade next. Can we stay out until nine?”

“Hey buddy,” Richard said, his eyes locked onto mine with sadistic amusement. “Keep an eye on your sister, okay? Tell Marcus to stay put at the arcade until I call him back. Your mom and I are just finishing up some… paperwork.”

“Sure thing. Bye, Dad. Love you.”

The line went dead.

“Now,” Richard said, snapping his phone shut. “The folder, Isabel. And your phone. Toss them on the table.”