“The old office,” he said, his breathing shallow.

“They didn’t get the real ledger, Sadie.”

“Where is it, Arthur?” I asked, my heart racing.

“They are coming for it,” he whispered.

“Someone else knows.”

“Who?” I asked.

The line went dead with a sharp click.

I looked back at the burning house.

My father was being loaded into the back of a police cruiser.

My mother and Melanie were being led to another vehicle in handcuffs.

But Arthur’s words hung in the air, cold and terrifying.

“Wyatt,” I said, turning to him.

“We have to go to the nursing home.”

“Now.”

He didn’t ask questions.

He shifted the truck into drive and stepped on the gas.

The headlights of Wyatt’s truck swept across the front yard, where firefighters were already leaping from their trucks with heavy hoses.

The smell of burning pine and old drywall filled the air, leaking through our vents.

I kept my hand on my phone, staring at the dark screen.

Arthur’s voice had sounded weak, far weaker than usual.

“Why would someone else know about the ledger?” Wyatt asked as we sped down the boulevard.