It was Richard.

He didn’t look like an old man anymore; he walked with a purposeful, angry stride.

He reached the front porch, and we heard the heavy wood of the front door rattle as he tried the handle.

Then came the sound of breaking glass.

My phone, sitting in my pocket, suddenly vibrated.

The screen lit up with an incoming call from an unknown number.

I stared at the glowing screen in the dark.

I swiped the screen and put the phone to my ear.

I did not speak.

“I know you are in there, Claire,” my father’s voice said through the receiver.

His tone was cold, devoid of any parental warmth.

“Bring the ledger out, and we can settle this as a family,” he said.

I ended the call without answering.

Beside me, Gabriel held his breath, his hand resting on the grip of the holster under his jacket.

The sound of heavy boots crunched on the shattered glass of the front door downstairs.

The floorboards groaned under a heavy weight.

“He’s in the foyer,” Gabriel whispered.