My mother sank onto the front fender of her Lexus, burying her face in her hands.

Brielle stood there, looking lost, staring at her own reflection in the car window.

The tow truck’s yellow warning lights appeared in the distance, slowly winding up the road.

“Maren, we need to meet at my office at eight tomorrow,” Mr. Voss said.

“I have some documents that Donald Vance’s secretary forwarded to me.”

“They contain the correspondence between Dorian and Vance.”

“It details how they planned to falsify your father’s signature while he was in the hospice care unit.”

“I’ll be there, Mr. Voss,” I said.

“Get some sleep, Maren,” he said.

“You’ve done well tonight.”

“Thank you, Donald,” I said, and ended the call.

I walked over to the deputy’s patrol car.

“Deputy Miller, is it alright if I take my father’s presentation box?” I asked.

“The sheriff said it’s key evidence for the theft charge, Captain,” Miller said.

“But I can let you look at the contents again before I bag it.”

He opened the passenger door of his cruiser and picked up the wooden box.