At my father’s funeral, my brothers stood beside his coffin and mocked the black dress I had borrowed. “Dad left everything to us,” the oldest whispered. “You’ll leave here with nothing.”

“Why are the doors locked?” he demanded.

Detective Ramos showed his badge. “Because nobody leaves until we finish a conversation.”

Celeste started crying.

Three days earlier, Grant had told everyone Dad had died peacefully in his sleep after refusing treatment. He had demanded a closed casket until I threatened an injunction. He had also produced a new will, signed forty-eight hours before Dad died, leaving everything to him and Owen. Familyhistory research

I had stayed silent.