“You should have protected your wife,” my father said.

“Please,” Ethan begged. “Let me talk to Hannah.”

I reached out and took the phone from my father’s hand.

“I’m here, Ethan,” I said.

“Hannah, I can help you,” he said quickly. “I can tell you where the other accounts are. Just don’t let your father go to the police.”

“It’s too late for that,” I said.

Before he could answer, a loud crash echoed through the phone line.

I heard the sound of wood splintering and a man shouting in the background.

Then, the call disconnected.

My father and I stared at the dark screen of the phone.

A second later, the screen lit up again with an incoming text alert from an unknown number.

My thumb hovered over the glass screen.

The text was from an unsaved number with a Virginia area code.

It was a photograph of the front gate of our suburban house, blocked by three dark SUVs.

Beneath the image, a message appeared: *Federal authorities are on site. Secure your location.*

My father leaned over my shoulder, his breath warm against my temple.