Chapter 2

Mark Henderson leaned closer, his breath smelling of stale cigarettes and something expensive.

"You're making a mistake, little girl," he hissed, his voice low. "My father is a very influential man. You don't want to be on his bad side."

He straightened up, looking me up and down like I was something he'd scraped off his shoe.

"Think about your future. If you have one."

He actually bumped my shoulder hard as he walked past, a deliberate shove. I stumbled back, catching myself on a desk.

They left, Art Henderson patting Chief Williams on the shoulder like an old friend.

I felt so small, so helpless. The injustice of it burned in my chest.

The scholarship, my one ticket out, my dream, suddenly felt a million miles away.

Chief Williams cleared his throat. "Look, Sarah," he said, trying for a sympathetic tone that didn't reach his eyes, "Art Henderson practically owns this town. The D.A. listens to him, the judges listen to him. You can' t win this."

"So you' re just going to let them get away with it?" I asked, my voice flat.

"My advice? Take the money. Fix up your diner. Try to move on."

Move on.

How many times had I heard that? Move on from Dad' s death, move on from Mom' s illness, move on from being the poor Miller kid.

I looked at him, this man who was supposed to uphold the law.

"My sister is in the ICU," I said, each word heavy. "They nearly killed her. There's no moving on from that."

I walked out of the station, leaving him standing there.

The air outside felt heavy, suffocating.

My phone rang. It was the university admissions office.

A polite, distant voice on the other end. "Miss Miller? This is about your scholarship offer."

My heart sank. I knew what was coming.

"Due to a recently raised character concern, the university has decided to rescind its offer of admission and scholarship."

"Character concern?" I whispered. "What character concern?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the details, Miss Miller. The decision is final."

The line went dead.

Mark Henderson' s words echoed in my ears. "My father is a very influential man."

He hadn't wasted any time.

I leaned against a cold brick wall, the fight draining out of me. They had taken my future, just like that.

The hospital called next. Emily was stable, but her injuries were severe. Multiple fractures, internal bleeding. The doctor sounded grave. The medical bills were already piling up, a mountain I had no way to climb.

I went to the hospital, sat by Emily' s bedside. She was pale, bruised, tubes connecting her to beeping machines. Her hand felt so cold in mine.

"I'm so sorry, Em," I whispered, tears finally breaking free. "I should have protected you."

She stirred, her eyes fluttering open. A pained smile touched her lips.

"Not... your fault, Sarah-bug," she rasped. "Don't... let them... win."

Her words, faint as they were, reignited a spark in me.

No. I wouldn't let them win.

I wouldn't let them break us.

I remembered the security footage from Mr. Henderson' s store. That was my proof.

I went to see a lawyer the next day, then another, then a third.

They all listened, nodded sympathetically, and then showed me the door.

"Henderson's reach is too long, Miss Miller."

"I can't risk my practice."

"You'd be better off taking a settlement."

Even the neighbors, who' d always loved Miller' s Plate, who' d brought casseroles when Dad died, were suddenly distant. Their eyes skittered away when I approached. Some even crossed the street.

One, Mrs. Gable, finally whispered, "They came around, Sarah. Henderson' s men. Made it clear we shouldn't get involved."

Isolation. It was a cold, heavy blanket.

The Hendersons weren't just attacking us, they were poisoning everything around us.

But Emily' s words stayed with me. "Don't let them win."

I wouldn't. I couldn't.