As we turned onto Preston Road, the streetlights cast long, yellow reflections on the wet asphalt.

A light drizzle began to fall, smudging the windshield.

“Mommy?” Hazel’s voice came from the back, small and trembling.

“Yes, sweetheart?” I looked at her in the rearview mirror.

“Are we going to get in trouble?”

“No,” I said, keeping my voice soft and steady. “Nobody is in trouble.”

“Daddy looked really angry,” Ruby whispered.

“Daddy is just surprised,” I said. “Everything is going to be fine. I promise.”

I watched the sprawling estates of Highland Park glide past the window.

They were beautiful, expensive homes, built on old money and older secrets.

The Ralstons thought they belonged to this world by birthright.

They did not realize that birthrights could be bought and sold by the quietest person in the room.

We reached our house fifteen minutes later.

It was a traditional brick home, smaller than Gloria’s, but still costly.

Graham had insisted on buying it to keep up appearances, even though he had to borrow the down payment from his mother.