“Sadie?” Melanie gasped, her voice instantly turning sour. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving what you tried to steal,” I said, stepping up onto the first stair.

“You have nothing, Sadie,” my father sneered, though his hand shook on the handle of the gas can.

“This property belongs to Bennett, and Bennett is incompetent,” he said.

“We have the power of attorney,” my mother added, trying to straighten her coat.

“Not anymore,” a new voice called out from the dark entrance behind us.

The beam of a much larger flashlight swept past Wyatt and me, pinning my father in its glare.

Detective Harper stepped into the basement, his service weapon drawn and held steady.

Three uniformed officers followed him, their heavy boots clattering on the concrete.

“Put the gas can down, Richard,” Harper ordered.

My father looked at the stairs, then at the open window behind him, calculating his chances.

“I said put it down,” Harper repeated, taking a step forward.

My father let the red plastic can drop to the floor, where it spilled a dark puddle onto the concrete.