Chapter 7: The Wrong Signature

Lawson called me down to his study at nine that night.

Marissa was already there, curled in the leather armchair with her shoes off.

A lawyer in a gray suit stood by the window with a folder open on the desk.

I had never seen him in our house before, and he did not look at me once.

"Sit, Annabel," Lawson said. "This will take two minutes."

I sat.

My heart was hammering so hard I thought they could hear it.

I had spent the whole afternoon in my room with my father's letter, telling myself how to breathe.

"The annual proxy for the board meeting," Lawson said. "You've signed one every year. It's a formality."

He turned the folder toward me and covered the top of the page with his hand.

"Sign on the line at the bottom," he said.

"Lawson," I said, "before I sign anything, I want to ask for something."

His eyes narrowed.

Marissa sat up.

"Poppy stays at St. Alder's until the gala is over," I said.

"I'll sign this, and I'll go to the dress fittings, and I'll wear whatever Marissa wants."

"I can do all of that if my sister is in the bed she's slept in for six years."

"The move is a good one," Marissa said. "Harlow is peaceful."

"The move is the only thing I'll fight about," I said. "Everything else, you can have."

I let my voice shake, and I did not have to try very hard.

Lawson looked at his lawyer, who said nothing.

He looked at Marissa, who bit her lip.

Then he looked at me, and I saw him decide that I was frightened and tired and no danger to anyone.

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