Richard’s face grew darker as he realized his attempt to buy me off had failed.

“If you force a public auction, the value will be cut in half,” he argued.

“You will lose hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

“I don’t care about the discount,” I said.

“The cost of seeing the Carter name stripped from this neighborhood is worth every penny.”

Downstairs, the heavy oak front door creaked open, followed by the sound of deep voices echoing in the hallway.

The police were moving inside the house.

Margaret looked toward the stairs, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Richard, do something,” she pleaded, tugging at his arm.

Richard did not move.

His eyes were locked on mine, trying to find a crack in my resolve.

He knew that if he reached for the phone to call his lawyers for Daniel, I would walk downstairs and hand the blue folder to the detectives myself.

His legacy, his pension, and his freedom hung by a single thread.

The footsteps were coming up the stairs now, heavy and deliberate on the wooden steps.