“Conspiracy to commit grand theft.”

“And tampering with court-sealed evidence.”

“The minimum sentence for a conviction is five years.”

Sloane stared at the screen.

Her hand went to her throat.

She looked at the luxury items in her dining room, then at the deputy standing in her doorway.

“Five years?” she whispered.

“Evan, you said there was no risk.”

“You said Claire was too weak to fight this.”

“You said she’d sign the papers by midnight.”

Evan stepped toward her, his face dark with anger.

“I told you to shut your mouth, Sloane,” he growled.

“We are not talking without our lawyer.”

“Your lawyer can’t help you with a federal probate violation, Mr. Hayes,” Lydia said.

“And certainly not with the sheriff’s department watching you on camera.”

“We are filing the emergency petition first thing in the morning.”

“The court will strip you of any temporary administrator status immediately.”

“And the police will execute the arrest warrants.”

I looked at my husband.

The man I had trusted for five years.

The man who had stood by my father’s casket and whispered that he would take care of me.