Claire looked back once, her mascara smudged into dark streaks down her pale cheeks.

Then the elevator doors slid shut, hiding them from view.

Ethan sighed, buttoning his grey suit jacket.

“The federal grand jury was already prepared to indict,” Ethan said.

“They just needed the final asset tracing reports from our forensic team.”

“Thank you, Ethan,” my father said, shaking his partner’s hand.

“Get back to the office and let the board know the litigation is over.”

“I will,” Ethan replied, looking at me with a warm smile.

“Take care of your dad, Sophie. He’s had a long year.”

“I will,” I said.

We walked out of the courthouse and into the brisk autumn air of Columbus.

The sky was a pale, clean grey, and the wind carried the scent of fallen leaves.

For the first time in months, my chest did not feel tight.

My father’s old pickup truck was parked at the curb, its blue paint chipped at the edges.

He unlocked the passenger door for me, and I climbed inside.

The worn leather seats smelled of cedar shavings and motor oil.