“Linda,” Ethan said, his voice barely a whisper.

He was still leaning against the wall, his face pale and slick with sweat.

“They know,” Ryan muttered from the corner of the room.

Ryan’s phone stopped ringing, but the blue light of the screen continued to pulse against the dark fabric of his jacket.

“Know what?” Linda asked, stepping closer to her sons. “Sophia, what have you told these people?”

“I didn’t have to tell them anything, Linda,” I said.

“They have the bank records,” I added, keeping my voice flat.

“You did this,” Linda said, pointing a trembling, manicured finger at me. “You blocked the transfers.”

“No, Mrs. Vance,” lawyer Vance said, stepping forward with his hands clasped.

“The federal authorities did that,” he said. “To protect the integrity of the estate.”

Before Linda could speak, the heavy footsteps on the porch multiplied.

Two uniformed state troopers stepped through the open doorway, their utility belts clinking with every step.

They carried black leather clipboards and pairs of steel handcuffs.

“Ethan Vance?” the lead trooper asked, his eyes locking onto my husband.

Ethan did not move.