“Ava, where are you going?” my mother called out. “It’s pouring.”

“I’m leaving,” I said.

I grabbed my bag from the chair, making sure the heavy manila folder was zipped securely inside.

The folder contained the copies of the forged loan applications Brandon had submitted.

It contained the signatures that did not match mine, and the social security printouts Arthur had helped me gather.

“I will accompany you, Ava,” Arthur said, picking up his umbrella.

“Thank you, Arthur,” I said.

We walked out into the cold night air, the heavy oak door slamming shut behind us.

The rain beat down hard on the driveway, splashing against my jeans.

I climbed into the passenger seat of Arthur’s sedan, my hands shaking so hard I could barely buckle my seatbelt.

Arthur got into the driver’s seat, shaking the rain from his umbrella before placing it on the floor.

He started the engine, the heater blowing cold air before slowly warming up.

“Where can I take you?” Arthur asked quietly. “Do you have a friend’s place?”

“My apartment,” I said. “I need to pack some things. And I need to think.”