A brass key.
No label.
No explanation.
Just a key.
I was still staring at it when someone knocked downstairs.
Silas was working overnight.
I checked the porch camera.
My brother Grant stood outside.
I hadn’t seen him in fifteen years.
He looked twenty years older.
When I opened the door, he didn’t hug me.
He said, “You shouldn’t sign anything Mom gives you.”
My hand tightened around the doorknob.
“What?”
“The agency is collapsing.”
The Whitfield Insurance Agency had been my family’s pride for forty years.
Dad talked about it like royalty talked about bloodlines.
“What does that have to do with me?”
Grant laughed once, without amusement.
“A lot more than anyone told you.”
I let him inside.
We sat at the kitchen table.
Grant rubbed both hands over his face.
“The agency has debt. Serious debt. Dad borrowed against the house. There are liens. The commercial building is collateral.”
“How much?”
“Almost nine hundred thousand.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“He made bad decisions. Then he made more bad decisions trying to fix the first ones.”
“And Mom came to me because?”
Grant looked toward the hallway where Ren slept.
“They need a signature.”
