“This is grand larceny, Ms. Pierce,” Malcolm said, his eyes scanning the contents of the tub.

“I didn’t steal them,” Sloane said, her eyes welling with tears. “Evan brought them here. He said his mother was clearing out her closets.”

“He was using your house as a clearinghouse for stolen estate assets,” Lydia said.

The deputy began lifting the heavy silver pieces out of the tub, placing them on a folding table to be logged.

I watched the tarnished silver handles of the teapot catch the dim light of the basement bulb.

For three years, Evan had told me we were broke, that the estate was crumbling under tax debt.

He had made me feel guilty for wanting to keep the house, telling me I was being sentimental and foolish.

All the while, he and his mother were carrying our history out the back door in plastic tubs.

“We need to secure the perimeter of the main estate too,” Lydia told Malcolm. “Vivian is still living in the guest cottage.”

“I have two units heading over there now,” Malcolm said. “They have the warrant for her residence as well.”