“Of course she didn’t know,” my mother said to me.

“Emily, tell this officer that your sister is not a criminal,” my mother said.

“She is a wife,” she added.

“She did what her husband told her to do with the finances,” my mother said.

I looked at the copy of the deposit slip peaking out from the top of the folder.

The signature was clear.

Claire had always had a very distinct, looping handwriting.

She used to sign her name on my schoolbooks when she wanted to steal them.

“The federal prosecutors will make that determination, Mother,” I said.

“But right now, the evidence is going to the Department of Justice,” I added.

“They are preparing the formal charges for Andrew’s court-martial,” I said.

Claire sank into a chair, her head falling into her hands.

Her perfect blonde hair fell forward, covering her face.

“My life is over,” she said.

“The girls at the tennis club,” she whispered.

“The commander’s dinner next week,” she added.

“I was supposed to host it,” Claire said.

“You won’t be hosting any dinners on this post, Claire,” I said.