The rain had stopped, leaving the Sonoma hills dark and glistening under the moonlight.

The agave plants in the field stood like silent sentinels, watching the end of an empire.

I knew what I had to do next.

The money in those offshore accounts didn’t belong to me.

It didn’t belong to Mark, or Yasmin, or Gillian.

It belonged to the people who had lost their homes and their livelihoods to my family’s greed.

Every single dollar would have to be traced and returned.

It would take months, maybe years, of legal battles.

But I was ready.

“Let’s go,” Ana said, gesturing toward the door.

We walked out onto the porch, the cool night air hitting my face like a splash of cold water.

Two squad cars were parked in the gravel driveway, their engines idling.

Mark was being led down the steps, his hands cuffed behind his back.

He didn’t look at me as they pushed him into the back seat of the first car.

Yasmin was sitting in the back of the second car, her head buried in her hands.