We reached the kitchen door, but before we could step out, another figure appeared in the doorway.

It was Gillian.

Her face was smeared with makeup, her eyes wide with terror.

She looked at me, then at Ana.

“Where is the money?” she sobbed, her voice trembling. “They took our house in Fremont. They’re taking everything.”

“Go back to the car, Gillian,” Ana said firmly.

“No!” Gillian shrieked. “She has the papers! She’s the one who did this to us!”

She lunged at me, her hands clawing at my face.

Ana stepped between us, pushing Gillian back.

The flashing lights from outside cast long, distorted shadows across the kitchen walls.

A second deputy rushed through the back door, grabbing Gillian by the arms.

She screamed and kicked, her boots scraping against the cabinets.

“Get her out of here,” the deputy said to his partner.

I stood in the center of the kitchen, breathing heavily.

The air was cold, but my skin felt hot.

The chaotic sounds of the struggle faded slightly as they dragged Gillian outside.

Ana turned to me, putting a hand on my shoulder.