“Emma, tell them,” Grant pleaded, his voice cracking. “Tell them this is a misunderstanding. We can fix this. We’re family.”

“We were never family, Grant,” I said, my voice barely louder than a whisper. “You were just a tenant in my mother’s house.”

The cold click of the handcuffs locking around his wrists was the most satisfying sound I had heard in years.

“Where is Helen Caldwell?” Miller asked, looking at me.

“The sub-basement archives,” I said. “Dina sent a message. Helen is trying to burn the physical ledgers.”

Miller nodded to the troopers. “Take him down to the cruiser. I’ll handle the mother.”

“I’m coming with you,” I said.

“No, Emma,” Marcus said, reaching out to stop me. “It’s dangerous down there if there’s a fire.”

“The ventilation system is off,” I said, pointing to the ceiling. “The smoke is contained. And those are my mother’s files she is burning.”

I didn’t wait for his approval.

I pushed past Grant as the troopers led him out, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

The hallway was filled with a thin, grey haze.