“Solene is out in the freezing cold because of you.”

“If you don’t call the police department and drop these ridiculous charges, I will make sure you lose everything.”

“The house will be the first thing the bank takes to pay off my business debts.”

I stared at the glowing blue screen, my fingers trembling slightly.

For months, his threats would have sent a cold spike of panic straight through my chest.

Now, I felt a strange, quiet distance from his words.

I tapped the screen, selected the number, and hit the block button.

Then I deleted the message.

I stood up from the velvet sofa and walked over to the landline phone on the hallway table.

I dialed my attorney, Maureen Fletcher.

She answered on the second ring, her voice crisp and professional.

“Calla, I was just about to call you,” Maureen said.

“I have some news from the county prosecutor’s office.”

“What is it?” I asked, gripping the receiver.

“They have formally charged Rylan with identity theft, forgery, and grand larceny,” she said.

“They found the forged quitclaim deed he tried to file last month.”