My appendix ruptured at 2 a.m., and I called my parents seventeen times before the world began to blur. My mother finally texted back: “Your sister’s baby shower is tomorrow. We can’t leave now.”

I did not open the door.

“Yes?”

“I have documents for you.”

The old Holly would have panicked and obeyed.

The new Holly said, “Leave them on the floor.”

He sighed. “I need confirmation of delivery.”

“You have confirmation. You spoke to me through the door.”

A pause.

Then the envelope slid down and landed on the mat.

His footsteps retreated.

I waited until I heard the elevator doors close, then opened my door.

The envelope was thick.

Cream-colored.

Expensive.

My mother had always believed bad news looked more respectable on heavy paper.

My hands went cold before I even saw the name of the law firm.

Inside were twenty-seven pages.

I read the first page standing in the doorway.

Then I sat on the floor because my knees stopped believing in me.

Eleanor Crawford was suing Gerald Maize.

Defamation.

Intentional infliction of emotional distress.

Alienation of family relationships.

Manipulation of a medically vulnerable adult.

She was also contesting Richard’s transfer of my stolen college fund, claiming that I had “coerced” him through “emotional blackmail” and that Gerald had “inserted himself into a family crisis for personal financial gain.”

For a long moment, I could not breathe.