“Place your hands behind your back.”

Marjorie made a lunging movement toward the marshal.

“Don’t touch him!” she screamed.

“This is Hartwell money!”

“It belongs to our family now!”

One of the local police officers stepped forward and grabbed Marjorie’s arm.

He pulled her back, securing her wrists in a pair of steel handcuffs.

“Let go of me!” she yelled, her perfect blowout falling into her eyes.

“Nolan, do something!”

But Nolan was already staring at the ground.

His shoulders slumped forward.

He looked smaller than he ever had in his custom-tailored suits.

The marshal pulled Nolan’s arms behind his back and clicked the cuffs into place.

The sound was sharp and metallic, carrying across the open tarmac.

“The bag,” I said, pointing to the leather duffel sitting near the plane’s steps.

“It contains three hundred thousand dollars in cash.”

“It was withdrawn from the Hartwell Civic Group’s operating account this morning.”

The second marshal picked up the bag and unzipped it.

He glanced inside, then nodded to the lead marshal.

“We’ll need you to come to the federal building to sign the affidavit, Mrs. Pierce,” the marshal told me.