Another car had arrived.

A car door closed, followed by the heavy sound of footsteps running up the front steps.

A loud, frantic knock began at the front door.

The door swung inward before the agent could reach the handle.

Linda stood on the threshold, her face flushed a bright, angry red.

Her beige trench coat was unbuttoned, dragging against the wet door mat.

Her hair was damp from the light drizzle outside, sticking to her forehead in thin gray strands.

“Ethan!” she gasped, her voice carrying a sharp, desperate edge.

She did not seem to notice the federal agents standing by the sideboard.

“The online portal,” she said, clutching her leather purse to her chest. “The bank. They have locked me out of the mortgage accounts.”

She stopped mid-stride as she stepped into the hallway.

Her eyes scanned the room, landing on the blue folders spread across the mahogany dining table.

She looked at Vance, then at the two agents in their dark suits, and finally at me.

“What is going on here?” she demanded, her voice dropping into a low growl.