She slid the papers back into the manila folder and closed it.

“Let’s go,” she said, standing up. “Let’s go before he gets home.”

Just as she reached for her keys on the dining room table, a shadow fell across the window.

A car door slammed outside.

It wasn’t the sound of a sedan.

It was the heavy, distinct thud of Richard’s luxury SUV.

We both froze.

The grandfather clock ticked loudly in the silence.

The front porch steps creaked under a heavy, familiar stride.

A key slid into the lock of the front door.

The brass knob began to turn.

The brass knob turned completely.

The heavy oak door swung inward.

Richard stood in the entryway, holding his leather briefcase.

He smelled of cold winter air and his expensive mahogany cologne.

His eyes swept over the hallway, then locked onto Claire and me standing near the dining table.

“You’re both home,” he said.

His voice was calm, but his eyes were too bright, shifting between the two of us.

Claire quickly slipped the manila folder behind her back, pressing it against her spine.