Chapter 1

The email glowed on my phone screen, the words "Congratulations, Sarah Miller!" jumping out, and I screamed, pure joy bubbling up.

Emily, my older sister, rushed out from the kitchen of Miller' s Plate, our family diner, a spatula in her hand.

"What is it, Sarah? You okay?"

I waved the phone, "I got it, Em! The scholarship, I actually got it!"

Her face broke into a huge smile, the kind that always made me feel safe, and she pulled me into a hug, smelling like coffee and grilled onions, the scent of home.

"I knew you would," she said, her voice thick with pride, "Dad would be so proud."

Our dad, David Miller, a Marine, a hero, gone too soon but always with us. Emily had been my rock, my everything, since our parents passed, running the diner he and Mom started, keeping us afloat. Miller' s Plate wasn' t just a business, it was our life, a place loved by the whole town.

We were laughing, planning a small celebration, when the bell above the diner door slammed open.

It wasn't a customer.

Mark Henderson, Art Henderson' s spoiled son, swaggered in, followed by three guys who looked like they collected debts for a living. Art Henderson, the richest, meanest developer in town, had been sniffing around Miller' s Plate for months, wanting the land for some new ugly project. Emily always told him no.

"Well, well, look who it is," Mark sneered, his eyes cold. "Still playing restaurant, Emily?"

Emily stepped in front of me, "We're closed, Mark, get out."

"Not yet," he said, and then things moved fast.

He nodded to his thugs. One grabbed Emily. I screamed. Another shoved me hard towards the back office, the door slamming shut, the lock clicking.

I pounded on the door, "Emily! Let me out!"

Then I heard it, the sickening thud of a fist, Emily' s cry of pain, the crash of plates, our mother' s cherished china.

They were destroying everything. They were hurting her.

My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone, dialing 911, my voice cracking as I begged for help.

"They're attacking my sister, Miller's Plate on Main Street, please hurry!"

The operator sounded bored, "An officer will be dispatched when available."

When available? My sister was being beaten.

I heard Mark' s voice, "Teach her a lesson, boys. Maybe now she' ll understand how business works."

Then, a final, terrible crash, and Emily' s whimpering.

Silence.

I kept screaming her name.

It felt like forever before I heard sirens, distant at first, then closer.

The office door was wrenched open, not by the thugs, but by a cop.

I scrambled out. The diner was a wreck, tables overturned, glass everywhere.

And Emily, oh God, Emily was on the floor, curled up, blood on her face, barely conscious.

"Emily!" I rushed to her, but the cop pulled me back.

"Ma'am, let the paramedics see to her."

At the station, everything felt cold and wrong.

Officer Miller, no relation, took my statement, his pen scratching too slowly. He seemed more interested in how late his shift was running.

"Did you see who did it?" he asked, not looking at me.

"Yes! Mark Henderson and his thugs, I told you! There' s security footage from Mr. Henderson' s store next door, it has to show them." I was almost shouting.

He sighed, "We'll look into it."

Then Chief Williams walked in, a man known more for his golf games with Art Henderson than for actual police work.

He glanced at my statement, then at me. "Miss Miller, based on preliminary information, this looks like it might have been a mutual altercation that got out of hand. Or perhaps there's insufficient evidence for an immediate arrest."

"Mutual? Are you insane? They ambushed us! They nearly killed my sister!"

Just then, the door opened again. Art Henderson strode in, his expensive suit looking out of place, his son Mark smirking beside him.

"Chief Williams," Art Henderson said, his voice smooth as poison, "terrible business, this. Young people get heated."

Mark stepped forward, looking right at me, "Heard your sister put up a bit of a fight. Shame. We were just trying to have a business discussion."

He actually had the nerve to grin.

Art Henderson placed a thin envelope on the Chief' s desk. "A little something for the damages, and of course, we'd expect a simple non-disclosure. No need to drag this out, right Sarah?"

He said my name like it was dirt.

The rage that had been simmering inside me boiled over.

"You monsters," I choked out, "You think you can just buy your way out of this?"

Mark laughed, a short, ugly sound. "Honey, we can buy anything. And anyone."

Chief Williams picked up the envelope, not meeting my eyes. "Miss Miller, perhaps you should consider Mr. Henderson's generous offer. These things can get messy."

I looked from the Chief' s shifty gaze to Mark' s arrogant smirk, to Art Henderson' s cold, calculating eyes.

My sister was in the hospital, maybe dying, and these people were talking about money.

"Never," I said, my voice shaking but firm. "I will never take your blood money."