His hair was messy, and a red mark was forming on his cheek where it had hit the floor.

“You won’t keep it,” he spat.

“Claire has the money.”

“She’s already gone.”

“Not for long,” Deputy Miller said.

He tapped his earpiece.

“Dispatch, do we have an update on the vehicle heading south on Route 9?”

A voice crackled through the deputy’s radio, loud enough for all of us to hear.

“State patrol has visual on the suspect vehicle near mile marker forty-two,” the dispatcher said.

“They are initiating a traffic stop now.”

I walked over to the attic window and looked out into the darkness.

Down on Waverly Lane, the red and blue lights of three police cars painted the wet asphalt.

The rain had started again, a steady drizzle that blurred the streetlights.

I could hear the distant siren of a state trooper’s car fading into the south.

“They’ll catch her,” Daniel said, standing beside me.

“Claire was never as clever as she thought she was.”

“She ruined this family,” I said.

“She did,” he agreed.

“But she left a paper trail.”