The late afternoon sun filtered through the kitchen window, casting long shadows across the table. It had been a long day, and I was trying to make sense of our family’s finances, juggling numbers on a spreadsheet. My brother, David, walked in with an envelope in hand. He always had a way of making even the simplest things seem urgent. “You need to look at this,” he muttered, avoiding direct eye contact as he placed the envelope in front of me. His tone was casual, almost too casual, like someone trying to sell a used car. Inside, I found a contract with unfamiliar legal terms and conditions.

“What’s this about?” I asked, lifting my gaze to meet his. David shrugged, his eyes darting to the window. “Just read it, okay? It’s a no-brainer.” And with that, he turned and left the room, leaving me with a growing sense of unease.

I pulled out the document, my fingers running over the crisp paper. It was a proposal to invest in buying a bull, of all things. The figures were daunting, and I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. The contract was already signed by David, his confident signature standing out starkly at the bottom of the page.

I reached for my phone, dialing our family lawyer, Mr. Jacobs. As the line connected, I tried to steady my voice, explaining the situation as best as I could. There was a pause on the other end, a silence that seemed to stretch on indefinitely. “I’ll look into it,” Mr. Jacobs finally said, his tone professional but clipped. It wasn’t exactly reassuring.

As I hung up, a small note fell out from between the pages of the contract. It was David’s handwriting: “Trust me.” Those words should have been comforting, but instead, they filled me with a sense of dread. I glanced at the clock—5:23 PM. This was going to be a long night.

My phone buzzed again, this time with an email notification from David. The subject line read “Urgent.” My heart sank as I clicked to open it, bracing myself for whatever was to come.

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