My sister ripped my shirt apart in front of two hundred guests and laughed at the scars across my back. For one stunned moment, even the champagne seemed to stand still.

at the torn fabric still dangling from her hand.

“You were my sister when you laughed at my scars.”

Her lips trembled. “Dad made me do it.”

“No,” I said softly. “Dad taught you. You chose to become him.”

The agents pulled her hands behind her back and secured them.

My brother attempted to slip out through a side door, but another agent stopped him before continue reading …