On the receiver, my father muttered a curse.

“It’s not here,” he said.

“What do you mean?” my mother asked.

“The ledger is gone,” he said.

“The physical ledger for the Delaware properties.”

His voice rose in panic.

“Sadie must have taken it,” my mother whimpered.

“No,” he said.

“She didn’t have the key.”

“Then who did?”

“It doesn’t matter,” my father growled.

“We burn the rest.”

“The whole house?” my mother gasped.

“If the house burns, the records go with it,” he said.

“We claim the insurance, we pay off the immediate debts, and we leave.”

“Richard, that’s arson,” she whispered.

“It’s survival,” he said.

Inside the truck, I felt the air leave my lungs.

My childhood home, the place where they had tried to break me, was about to go up in flames.

“They’re actually going to do it,” Wyatt said.

He reached for his phone.

“I’m calling Harper.”

“Harper already knows,” I said.

“He has the wiretap running.”

“He’s waiting for them to start.”

Just then, a text message lit up Wyatt’s phone screen.

It was from Detective Harper.