From the kitchen, the sound of muffled crying drifted through the doorway.

Lydia’s voice was low and steady, a sharp contrast to Sloane’s ragged breathing.

A minute later, the swinging door pushed open.

Lydia came out first, her notepad open in her hand.

Sloane followed her, her makeup smudged, her hands trembling as she wiped her cheeks.

She wouldn’t look at Evan.

“She’s ready to talk,” Lydia said, looking directly at Malcolm.

“Sloane, don’t do this,” Evan said, his voice rising in panic. “We can handle this.”

“Handle what, Evan?” Sloane shrieked, her voice cracking. “The police are here!”

“It’s a civil matter,” Evan lied, his eyes darting toward the door. “It’s just a probate dispute.”

“It’s grand larceny, Mr. Hayes,” Lydia corrected him smoothly.

Lydia turned to Sloane.

“Tell the deputy what you just told me,” Lydia said.

Sloane pointed a shaking finger at Evan.

“It was all him,” Sloane sobbed. “He told me the estate was practically his anyway.”

“Sloane, shut your mouth,” Evan snarled, taking a step toward her.

Malcolm stepped between them, his large frame blocking Evan completely.