I thought of the big family home where they had tried to corner me, the place where I had grown up.

It would all be sold to pay back what they had stolen from Arthur and me.

“Good,” I said, and for the first time in months, I meant it.

“Let’s get out of here,” Wyatt said, guiding me toward the exit. “The smell of gas is getting worse.”

We walked up the stairs and out into the cold night air.

The gravel lot was filled with police cars, their red and blue lights painting the brick walls in strobes of color.

A small crowd of neighbors from the nearby apartment buildings had gathered at the yellow tape.

I saw my sister Melanie being pushed into the back of a cruiser, her face pressed against the glass.

She saw me and mouthed a curse word, her eyes filled with rage.

I looked away, turning my back on her for the last time.

We walked back to Wyatt’s truck, the heavy leather ledger tucked securely under my arm.

The heater in the truck blasted warm air as Wyatt started the engine.