He looked at me with open contempt as I entered the room.
“Sit in the back, Vanessa,” he snapped. “And keep quiet.”
Mr. Sterling arrived moments later, carrying a heavy leather-bound folder. He took his seat, straightened his glasses, and surveyed the room. His eyes paused on me for a fraction longer than on anyone else—thoughtful, impossible to read—before moving on to Curtis.
“We will now begin the reading of Mr. Arthur’s final will and testament,” Sterling announced.
Curtis tapped his fingers impatiently against the table.
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