I could hear shouting even from the street.

“You have no right to be in my home!”

It was my grandfather’s voice, shrill and angry.

“Sir, we have a warrant signed by a judge,” an officer said.

His voice was calm and loud.

Then, I saw my mother.

Claire came out onto the porch, her blonde hair perfectly styled but her face pale.

She was wearing a cream-colored cashmere sweater.

“This is a mistake,” she told the man in the suit.

“My husband is behind this.”

“He is trying to ruin us.”

The man in the suit did not look at her.

He opened his folder and pulled out a stack of paper.

“Are you Claire Whitaker?” he asked.

“Yes, but my lawyers—”

“This is a temporary restraining order and a freezing injunction,” the man said.

He handed the papers to her.

She did not take them.

He placed them firmly on the small iron table next to the door.

“All your personal accounts, credit cards, and shared assets with Whitaker Construction are frozen,” he said.

“Effective immediately.”

Claire stared at the papers.