“The federal marshals are waiting outside, Helen,” I said quietly. “Your accounts have been frozen. The house in Great Bridge is being seized.”

For the first time, a flicker of genuine fear crossed her eyes.

She stood up, her silk shawl slipping from her shoulders onto the dirty floor.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she gasped. “I am your mother.”

“My mother died a long time ago,” I said.

The door opened, and the two federal agents stepped into the room.

“Mrs. Rogers, it is time to go,” the first agent said, producing a pair of administrative warrants.

Helen looked at the documents, then at me, her lips trembling with rage.

“You will regret this, Emerson,” she hissed as they led her toward the exit. “You will have nothing left.”

I watched them escort her down the corridor toward the waiting transport vehicle.

The rain outside was coming down harder now, washing over the asphalt of the parking lot.

I stood in the quiet hallway, feeling the weight of the last ten years finally beginning to lift, if only a fraction.