“We won’t be pressing charges today if you clear out of here,” Detective Miller told Megan, though his tone was threatening. “But if I catch you wasting my department’s time again, you’ll be riding in the back of my cruiser.”

The detective turned and walked back up the stairs, his boots clicking on the stone.

Megan stood frozen, her eyes darting between my father and me.

“Dad, please,” Megan whispered, reaching out a hand. “You don’t understand. Clara is trying to turn you against us.”

“Get out of this building,” my father said.

“Arthur, she’s your daughter!” my mother yelled, her face turning red.

“And Clara is my daughter too,” my father said. “The one who actually worked. The one who didn’t lie to me for a decade while I broke my back to send you money.”

He pointed toward the stairs.

“Get out,” he repeated. “Both of you.”

My mother grabbed Megan’s hand, and they hurried up the stairs, their footsteps fading into the street above.

I leaned against the wire mesh of my storage cage, my knees trembling.