“This isn’t your house, Mom,” Dan said, his voice stronger now. “It never was.”

Sarah looked at the binder, her eyes wide as she stared at the printed text messages.

She reached out and flipped a page herself, her polished nails catching the kitchen light.

She stopped on a sheet of paper near the back.

Her face drained of color.

“What is this?” Sarah whispered.

“That is the police report from the night the fence was damaged,” I said.

“The one where the driver fled the scene.”

Sarah’s fingers trembled against the edge of the plastic sleeve.

She looked at her mother, her eyes filled with sudden panic.

“Mom,” Sarah said, her voice shaking. “You told me that was handled.”

“It was handled,” Juliette said, her voice sharp and defensive.

“Clearly it wasn’t,” Sarah said, her voice rising an octave.

“If this goes to court, they’ll look at the police report.”

“They’ll see who was actually driving that car.”

Juliette glared at her daughter. “Be quiet, Sarah.”

“No,” Sarah said, stepping back from the counter. “I won’t be quiet.”

“I have a career, Mom.”