The grand brick house looked dark and imposing under the stormy sky.

A single police cruiser was parked near the curb, its lights off.

But there was another car in the driveway—my father’s black sedan.

The lights in the second-floor study were burning bright.

“They’re inside,” Wyatt said, killing the engine and headlights.

“They don’t know we’re coming.”

We sat in the shadows, waiting for Detective Harper’s vehicle to arrive.

My phone buzzed in my lap.

It was an unknown number.

I swiped the screen to open the text message.

It was a photograph of Wyatt’s laptop open on my father’s desk, displaying a forged contract with Wyatt’s digital signature.

Beneath the image was a message from my mother’s number.

*Sign the transfer of your grandfather’s shares to us, or your fiancé goes to prison for the rest of his life.*

My breath caught in my throat.

Just then, a pair of headlights swept across the driveway as Harper’s unmarked sedan pulled up.

But before she could even open her car door, the front door of my family’s house swung open.