“What is going on in here?” she asked.

Her voice was cool, devoid of any late-night drowsiness.

“Your daughter is threatening to send me to prison,” Arthur said, his voice trembling.

Helen walked into the room, her silk slippers making no sound on the Persian rug.

She picked up the transfer document, scanning it quickly.

“Twenty-four hours,” she read aloud. “You’ve become very cold, Emily.”

“I learned from the best,” I said.

Helen set the paper back down.

She adjusted the collar of her robe, her expression perfectly calm.

“You think you’ve won because Evelyn left you her keys,” Helen said.

“I have the proof, Mother. The police won’t care about family loyalty.”

“Perhaps not,” Helen said. “But the courts will care about fraud.”

I watched her face closely.

She did not look worried for her husband.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Evelyn is dead,” Helen said. “The state of California has a signed death certificate on file.”

“She faked it to protect the assets from Gavin,” I said.

“Yes,” Helen said, taking a step closer to me. “And faking a death is a federal crime.”