“You live in a five-bedroom house in a gated community,” I said, gesturing to the window. “You drive a luxury SUV.”

“We had debts,” she said, looking away from me. “Your father left things in a mess.”

“That’s a lie,” I said. “Dad’s affairs were meticulous. Mr. Voss proved that to me yesterday.”

She looked back at me, her eyes cold and defensive.

“Mr. Voss is loyal to a ghost,” she said. “Dorian is the one who is actually here, taking care of us.”

“Dorian is taking care of himself,” I said. “He’s using your name to sign these transfers so he doesn’t get caught.”

I pointed to a line on the third page where her own signature appeared next to Dorian’s.

“Did you sign this, Mom?” I asked. “Or did he do this one too?”

She stared at the signature, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“I signed it,” she said flatly.

A cold weight settled in my chest, heavy and solid.

“You knew,” I said.

“I knew we needed the money,” she said. “I knew that the land in the desert was doing nothing but gathering dust.”