My sister, Melanie, crept down the stairs, clutching a silk robe around her shoulders.

Her eyes were wide, and the usual smugness was gone from her face.

“Wyatt?” Melanie whispered, looking at my fiancé with a desperate, pleading expression. “Why are you doing this to us?”

Wyatt didn’t even look at her.

“We are here to deliver the results of the forensic audit, Melanie,” Wyatt said, his voice cold.

My father walked back into the foyer, his face completely drained of color.

He was holding the kitchen phone receiver in his hand as if he had forgotten to hang it up.

“That was the bank,” my father said, his voice barely audible. “They’ve frozen the corporate accounts.”

“They had to,” I said, stepping forward. “Because those accounts don’t belong to you anymore.”

My mother dropped the envelope onto the small table by the door.

“What did you do, Sadie?” she screamed, her face twisting into a mask of rage. “This is our house! We raised you here!”

“You tried to kill me here,” I said, my voice steady.