“He told me we were flying out together on Saturday,” she said.

“He was going to leave you here to face the police,” I said.

She pulled her hands back and pressed them against her temples.

“No, no, no,” she chanted softly.

“The moment the bank realizes Melanie’s identity has been used to wire four million dollars, they will trace the IP address,” I said.

I pointed to her phone, which was still in her hand.

“They will trace it to your phone, Chloe,” I said. “To your laptop.”

“I didn’t know,” she sobbed, a single tear cutting through her makeup. “I swear I didn’t know.”

“Ignorance won’t keep you out of federal prison,” I said.

She looked up at me, her eyes red and wild with panic.

“You have to help me, Anne,” she said, reaching across the table to grab my wrist. “Please. You’re my sister.”

Her grip was tight and cold.

“You didn’t think about that when you went to bed with my husband,” I said.

She flinched as if I had struck her.