I parked the car in the driveway, my headlights illuminating the front door.

I knew Arthur would be inside, trying to clean up the mess before the police came back.

I walked up the stone steps, holding the folder tightly against my ribs.

I didn’t knock.

I used my old key, the lock turning with a familiar, heavy click.

The foyer was dim, the only light coming from the library at the end of the hall.

“Arthur?” I called out, my voice steady and cold.

The shadow of my father appeared in the library doorway.

He looked smaller than he had earlier, his shoulders slumped as he held a glass of amber liquid.

“Emily,” he said, his voice raspy. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“I think you know why I’m here,” I said, walking toward him.

I stepped into the light of the library, placing the folder on the mahogany table between us.

“We need to talk about First Star,” I said.

My father’s face went completely pale, his glass slipping slightly in his hand.