“So, about Book Five…” Sara’s attorney, David, finally stopped fiddling with his glasses. He clasped his hands together, swallowed hard, and fixed his gaze firmly on Sara. “Your mom wants you to write Book Five.” Sara laughed. David didn’t. Sara laughed again. More like a confused sputter. Then with a quick gasp, the whole amusing absurdity of the joke settled in and Sara laughed fully and deeply. This was actually a very funny joke. “Aww, David. You know the Graysons too well. You did get my attention, though, with the hands-clasped-together and that scary attorney look—like I’m going to find out my mother is broke.” David laughed nervously. “No, your mother isn’t broke. But yes…she did choose you to write the book.” That’s when Sara noticed David’s sweaty brow and how he wasn’t wiping it. Two beads of sweat hung there, practically defying gravity, and David didn’t budge. Sara’s stomach dropped to her toes, and disbelief washed over her entire body. “David, you can’t be serious. The book’s already written. It has to be. Mom’s a finisher, a closer. I heard Anna-Kath ask her about the final book. Mom said it was taken care of. I heard it myself.” David…