The metallic click of the cuffs was surprisingly loud.

They led him out through the side door.

He did not look back.

Claire stood up and tried to run toward him, but a female MP stopped her gently.

Claire collapsed against our mother, crying hysterically.

The spectators began to filter out.

I stood up and smoothed my uniform skirt.

I turned around to face my parents.

My mother was holding Claire, but she looked up at me.

There was no anger left in her eyes.

There was only embarrassment.

My father stood beside them, looking old and tired.

He walked over to me.

The leather of his shoes squeaked on the linoleum.

“Emily,” he said.

“Dad,” I said.

“We didn’t know,” he said.

“We had no idea he was doing those things.”

“I know,” I said.

“You tried to tell us about the discrepancies months ago,” he said.

“We didn’t listen.”

“We thought you were just being competitive.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” I said.

“It does,” he said.

“I was wrong.”

“He was a criminal, and you did your duty.”

My mother didn’t say anything, but she nodded slowly.