"This is outrageous! The Ames family-such a minor n-has managed to intimidate all of you like this?" Bancroft''s voice was cold and sharp. "Effie is Lyman''s wife, which makes her part of the Etheridge family now. Lyman must go and get her back. If he doesn''t, what will everyone think of us? Not just us, but even our children and grandchildren will beughed at, drowned in shame for generations!"


    "Dad, you don''t understand. Things aren''t the way they used to be. The Ames family isn''t what it once was..."


    Bancroft stomped his foot in frustration. "I don''t care what the Ames family has be. The Etheridge family never backs down! If you''re all so terrified, then say the word—I''ll cut all ties, and you can tell everyone I''m no longer your father."


    Healy and Fowler panicked at that, rushing to protest. "Dad, that''s not what we meant! We''re just thinking of what''s best for the Etheridge family, that''s all—" "Enough," Bancroft snapped. "If you''re against it, there''s nothing more to discuss."


    His words rang out with finality, silencing the room. No one dared say another word.


    Turning to Lyman, Bancroft said, "Go on, Lyman. Do what you have to do. Your grandfather and the Etheridge family will always have your back. Bring Effie home, safe and sound."


    Healy and Fowler exchanged nces, resentment simmering beneath the surface. Effie came from nothing, not a single rtive had shown up to help-only the Etheridge family, left fighting this battle alone.


    This was all Lyman''s fault-they were paying the price for his choices.


    Lyman looked at Bancroft, moved nearly to tears. "Thank you, Grandpa."


    Bancroft waved him off. "No need for thanks. We''re family."


    Lyman hurried out. Lindy watched him go, worry etched across her face. There wasn''t much she could do except silently pray that nothing bad would happen to Effie.


    Lyman knew his family had never truly epted Effie, but at least they hadn''t made it too obvious—until now. This crisis had revealed everyone''s true colors.


    "They''re them. I''m me," Lyman muttered to Fenton as they headed to the police station.


    The moment Lyman entered, everyone stopped and stared.


    "My wife''s in there. I want to see her," Lyman demanded.


    "Mr. Etheridge, ording to protocol, you can''t see her right now—"


    "Protocol?" Lyman cut him off, his voice icy. "Are you really following the rules here?"


    Fenton stepped in, his tone sharp. "Why is it that when Mrs. Etheridge asked for awyer, you all just ignored her?"


    The officers exchanged nervous looks. How did Lyman know Effie had asked for an attorney? Had word gotten out?


    But Fenton had spoken up on his own-after all, Lyman had always said Effie was smart. Of course she''d know to ask for legal counsel.


    "Take me to see her. Now." Lyman''s words were cold as death, each syble like a warning from the underworld.


    Effie felt dizzy, her head heavy and throbbing. She was barely conscious, teetering on the edge of cking out.


    Suddenly, the interrogation room door creaked open again.


    Her heart skipped a beat. Were they speeding things up? At first, they''d


    interrogated her every hour, demanding a confession. Then it was every thirty minutes. Now, not even half an hour had passed and they were back.


    They really were trying to break her.


    "Sweetheart." Lyman''s voice, thick with worry, cut through the fog.


    Effie heard him and froze, unsure if she was dreaming.