My heart hammered against my ribs as I looked at the brass doorknob.

It felt cold, even from a distance.

“Don’t open it yet,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

Benjamin held up a hand to quiet me.

He smoothed his tie, took a deep breath, and turned the lock.

The door swung open to reveal two police officers and a woman in a gray trench coat.

She held a black leather folder tightly against her chest.

“Mariana Rivers?” the woman asked, looking directly at me.

“I am her attorney, Benjamin Croft,” Benjamin said, stepping into the doorway. “How can we help you, officers?”

“We received a report of child endangerment at this address,” the female officer said.

Her metal badge glinted under the harsh hallway light.

“An anonymous caller stated the children are being held in an unstable environment,” the woman in the gray coat added.

She looked past Benjamin, her sharp eyes scanning my high-ceilinged studio.

They lingered on the shelves of solvent bottles, oil paints, and turpentine.

“I am Agent Gable, from Child Protective Services,” she said.

“This is an absolute outrage,” Jonathan said, stepping forward.