“You…” he stammered, his eyes darting from the phone to me.

“They heard everything, Ethan,” I said. “They heard about the forgery. They heard about Claire.”

“No,” Ethan whispered. “No, no, no.”

He took a step back, his boots creaking loudly on the floorboards.

“Turn it off,” he ordered, his voice rising to a shriek. “Turn it off now!”

“It’s too late,” Daniel said.

Below us, from the first floor of the dark house, came the sound of splintering wood.

The front door had been forced open.

Footsteps, heavy and fast, began to echo through the empty hallways downstairs.

“Police!” a voice shouted from the foyer. “Is anyone in the house?”

Ethan spun toward the attic stairs, his face twisted in panic.

He raised the gun, his chest heaving as he stared down into the dark opening of the hatchway.

The sound of footsteps grew louder, moving rapidly up the stairs toward the second floor.

“Ethan, put it down,” Megan pleaded, reaching out a hand toward him.

“Stay back!” Ethan screamed, pointing the gun down into the darkness of the stairwell.