“Graham wants to negotiate,” Rachel said.

“No negotiations,” I said, holding my warm mug with both hands. “He took my mother’s life’s work.”

“He knows he has no defense, Claire,” Rachel said gently. “If he pleads guilty, he avoids a public trial that would completely ruin what is left of his family.”

“Will he go to prison?” I asked.

“Yes,” Rachel said. “Embezzlement of this scale carries a mandatory sentence. He will serve time.”

The hearing was set for the first week of November.

The courtroom was quiet, the air smelling of old paper and radiator steam.

I sat in the back row, next to Daniel.

Graham stood at the defense table in a plain charcoal suit that looked too large for his frame.

His hair was uncombed, and his collar was loose.

When the judge asked for his plea, Graham did not look back at the gallery.

“Guilty,” he said.

The word was barely a whisper, but it echoed in the high-ceilinged room.

Margaret was not there; her lawyers claimed she was hospitalized with chest pains.

I felt no pity as the bailiff led Graham out through the side door.