“You aren’t an investigator anymore,” Diane snapped. “You’re a mother now. And if you want to keep your own comfortable military housing and your husband’s deployment benefits, you will drop those security locks and let us up.”

“Are you threatening my family?” I asked.

“I’m telling you how the world works,” Diane said. “Your father did what he had to do to keep us afloat. Do you think we could have paid for Victoria’s law school without that money? Do you think we could have helped you with your first apartment?”

“I paid for my own apartment,” I said.

“Your father holds the deed to your grandmother’s house, and her pension is the only thing keeping the bank from foreclosing on it,” Diane said, her voice rising in desperation. “If you report this, we lose everything. Your sister loses her notary license. Your father goes to prison.”

“Then he shouldn’t have stolen from the government,” I said.

“She is alive, Rachel!” Diane burst out.

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and toxic.

I gripped the metal bed rail so hard my knuckles turned white.