“Anne, listen to me,” he started, his voice dropping into that familiar, soothing register. “You don’t understand what’s happening. Melanie is unstable. She—”
“Save it, Lucas,” I interrupted, pulling my father’s revolver from my coat pocket and pointing it directly at his chest.
Melanie gasped. Lucas froze, his arms slowly lifting into the air.
“You thought my father was weak because his mind failed him,” I said, my voice cutting through the room like a razor. “You thought I was weak because I loved you. You took my inheritance, you tried to steal my life, and you thought you could burn the truth away in a metal trash can.”
“Anne, put the gun down,” he pleaded, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. “We can talk about this. The money—you can have all of it! I won’t touch a cent. Just put it down.”
