“He broke the locks on a sealed probate asset.”

“And he had help,” Malcolm said, pausing the video on a clear frame of Sloane’s face.

“This is third-degree burglary, tampering with evidence, and grand theft.”

I stared at the image of my husband, his hands digging through my father’s private life.

The coldness in my chest turned into something else.

Something sharp and hot.

“We have them, Claire,” Lydia said, her voice filled with a quiet intensity.

“This invalidates any claim of conservatorship he could possibly make.”

“He obtained those records through a felony.”

My phone began to ring in my hand.

The screen showed Evan’s name.

The clock on the dashboard of Lydia’s car read 11:45 PM.

He was calling to see if I was going to surrender.

I looked at the tablet screen, then at the ringing phone in my palm.

“Answer it,” Lydia whispered.

I swiped the screen and put the phone to my ear.

“Claire,” Evan’s voice came through, smooth and entirely confident.

“You have fifteen minutes.”

“Have you spoken to Lydia?” he asked.

I looked at Malcolm, who nodded slowly.