“Inside,” my father repeated, turning on his heel and walking back toward the house.

My mother grabbed my sleeve, her face a mask of desperation. “Please, Ava. Just come inside for five minutes.”

I looked at Arthur, who gave me a brief, cautionary nod.

We followed them into the warm, brightly lit foyer of the house.

The familiar scent of lavender wax and expensive wood polish felt suffocating.

My mother closed the heavy mahogany door, shutting out the sound of the rain and the flashing lights outside.

She turned to me immediately, her hands shaking as she reached out again, her mascara running in dark gray streaks down her cheeks.

“Ava, listen to me,” she said, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “The police said the fraud charges are federal. Brandon could go to prison for ten years. His life will be over.”

“He should have thought about that before he used my social security number to buy that condo,” I said, my voice shaking.

“He is your brother!” she cried, dropping her shawl onto the marble floor. “He has a future. You can save him.”