“Yes, I need representation immediately,” she whispered into the receiver.

“They are in my house.”

I walked past her toward the stairs that led to the basement office.

“You have no right to search this house without a local deputy,” Patricia snarled, blocking my path.

“The local deputy is parking behind us, ma’am,” Miller said, appearing at the front door.

The flashing blue and red lights of a police cruiser strobed against the living room walls.

Patricia’s face turned ash-gray.

She dropped her phone onto the rug.

Daniel didn’t look up at her.

He was staring at his own phone on the coffee table.

He looked at the screen, then looked up at me, his eyes wide with a sudden, desperate realization.

His hand crept toward the device.

His fingers hovered over the screen, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He looked back at his mother, who was now being read her rights by the arriving local officer.

A silent shift occurred in his expression.

The guilt on his face was replaced by a quiet, burning anger.

He picked up his phone and began typing rapidly, his thumbs flying across the glass.