He flinched as if I had struck him, his mouth opening but no words coming out.

Another team of agents began carrying out sterling silver serving trays, placing them carefully into padded transport crates.

From the top of the winding staircase, a heavy door slammed shut.

We all looked up.

Grant’s younger sister, Julianne, stood at the mahogany banister.

Her hair was disheveled, and she was clutching a silk robe tightly around herself.

“Grant?” Julianne called out, her voice thin and terrified. “There are men in my closet. They are taking my things.”

An agent came out of the upstairs hallway carrying several designer leather handbags, tagging each one with a plastic strap.

“Those are mine,” Julianne cried, running down the stairs. “I had nothing to do with the business.”

She reached the bottom of the stairs, her chest heaving as she looked at the agents.

“They are going to sell everything, aren’t they?” Julianne asked, turning her eyes to me.

“Everything purchased with Monroe Group funds is being liquidated to pay the federal fines,” I said.

Julianne turned her gaze to her mother, her face pale.