“Is someone there?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But your mother has people she pays to do her dirty work.”

The elevator chimed and the doors opened.

As we walked out into the lobby, my father’s phone began to ring.

He looked at the screen before pressing the answer button and putting it to his ear.

“Ethan,” my father said, his voice dropping an octave.

I watched his jaw muscles tighten as he listened.

The lobby of the office building was cold, smelling of floor wax and wet umbrellas from the damp Columbus streets outside.

“We just got the message,” my father said.

He scanned the glass doors that led out to the street.

“Are they at the house now?” he asked.

He looked down at me, his hand resting gently on my shoulder.

“We are on our way,” he said and hung up.

“What did Ethan say?” I asked.

“The police are at your grandfather’s house,” he said.

“They have the arrest warrants for the embezzlement.”

He guided me toward the parking garage entrance.

“And my mother?” I asked.