“It looks beautiful, sweetie,” I said, hugging him tightly.

“Go put it on your desk so we don’t wrinkle it.”

He ran down the short hallway to his bedroom, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum.

My mother, Martha, closed the front door and set her purse on the counter.

She looked at my face and immediately frowned.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Grant was outside,” I said.

“He threatened me about the financial audit.”

My mother sat down at the table, her face pale but determined.

“He is scared, Claire,” she said quietly.

“He wouldn’t come here himself if he weren’t worried about what you might find.”

I spread the papers out on the table between us.

“I don’t even know what I am looking for,” I admitted.

“I just know his lifestyle doesn’t match the income he reported on his tax forms.”

My mother picked up an old bank statement from three years ago.

She ran her finger down a list of deposits.

“Look at these cash deposits,” she said.

“They are all just under ten thousand dollars.”

“Why that amount?” I asked.