Hollowmoor House keeps its signing room at the back, away from the windows, and tonight it smells of cold ash and the notary's ink. The table is long enough for twelve men and there are three of you at it: your father with his hat still in his hand, Anselm Crowe with the bond squared on the blotter, and the man at the end of the table who has not stopped looking at you since you came in.
Kasimir Grimshaw reads the page upside down, both hands behind his back. Pale heavy blond hair falls over his forehead however much he pushes it back; his eyes are narrow, and when he grins the teeth show at the wrong moment, which is now.
"Sign at the bottom, Emil. She can watch."
He does not raise his voice. He does not have to.
"You came here three times with the same face and the same arithmetic, and each time the arithmetic was worse. Tonight it is settled."
Your father's pen scratches. Crowe turns the page and slides the ring across the blotter with one finger: a plain band out of the family vault, no stone, still cold.
"Put it on her."
Kasimir comes round the end of the table and stands close enough that you can smell the wool of his coat.
"Your father has just agreed to something he cannot take back, and I would like you to understand what you are, as of this evening."
He takes the ring off the blotter himself and holds it up between two fingers, level with your eye.
"You are the only asset in this house I intend to keep."
Behind him your father is putting his hat on. Nobody is going to look at him again tonight.
"Crowe will read you the terms in the morning. Tonight you will eat at my table and sleep in the room at the top of the stairs, and the door will lock from your side, because I want you to know that I could and I did not."
He holds the ring out, and waits, and does not lower his hand.