“With money that wasn’t yours,” I said.

The troopers began guiding Ethan and Ryan toward the front door.

Ethan’s shoulder brushed against the frame as they led him out.

He looked back at me over his shoulder, his eyes red and wet.

“Sophia,” he whispered.

I did not answer.

I watched them walk down the wet gravel driveway, their heads bowed against the rain.

The red and blue lights of the police cruisers flashed against the wet green leaves of the maples.

The car doors slammed shut, the heavy thuds echoing through the yard.

Linda sat on the bottom step, her face buried in her hands.

She was sobbing now, a high-pitched, pathetic sound that filled the foyer.

“My house,” she wailed. “Everything I worked for.”

I walked over to the dining table where Vance was gathering his documents.

My hands were steady as I picked up my mother’s blue folder.

“What happens now?” I asked him in a low voice.

Vance zipped his leather bag.

“The state attorney will handle the criminal prosecution,” Vance said.

“The evidence of forgery and unauthorized transfers is absolute,” he added.