A thick stack of financial documents lay between us.

“The offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands are fully defrosted,” Ana said.

“How much is there?” I asked.

“Twelve million dollars,” she replied.

“None of it belongs to me,” I said.

I knew the history of that money.

Abigail had acquired it by taking the homes and land of her tenants through predatory schemes.

I signed the authorization forms, transferring the entire sum into a victim restitution trust fund.

The money was distributed to the families Abigail had ruined over thirty years.

I kept only the small, secluded agave ranch in Sonoma.

The air there smelled of dry grass and warm soil.

I walked out onto the wooden porch, looking at the sun setting over the valley.

My hands were empty of stolen wealth.

But for the first time in my life, they belonged entirely to me.