The Offer

The email asked her to meet, alone, at nine the next morning. No explanation. No signature beyond a name: William Pruitt, Counsel to the Corvin Family Trust.

She went. She'd told no one but Sebastian, who'd texted her twice since the gala: Are you okay? then, more urgently, Please don't do anything before you talk to me. She hadn't answered either.

Pruitt's office was dark wood and diplomas, the man himself somewhere north of sixty, precise the way people get when discretion has been their entire career.

"Miss Marchetti." No coffee offered. "I'll be direct. The Trust is aware you've learned certain facts about your mother's history with the family."

"You mean the part where they're my family too."

His expression didn't change, which told her more than if it had.

"The Trust is prepared to be generous. Full tuition, guaranteed graduate placement, a modest stipend upon graduation." He slid a folder across the desk. "In exchange for your discretion regarding the Voss matter, and your mother's continued silence — reliable, I understand, for over twenty years."

"You're bribing me to disappear. Same as you did to her."

"I'd call it care that comes with reasonable conditions."

"Call it whatever helps you sleep."

Pruitt folded his hands. "Mrs. Corvin asked me to add one thing, verbally, off the record." His voice dropped, almost kind, which made it worse. "She said to remind you that families protect their name first. Everything else — comfort, money, even truth — comes after. She said you'd understand, being one of them now."

Isla stood so fast the chair scraped loud against the floor.

"I'm not signing anything."

"No one's asking you to sign today." Pruitt closed the folder, unconcerned, as if he'd expected exactly this. "But I'd think carefully, Miss Marchetti, about what happens to a scholarship — and a mother's quiet anonymity — if the family decides discretion is no longer being reciprocated."

He said it so gently it took her a full three seconds to understand it was a threat.