He paused, and we heard the sound of heavy footsteps on a hard floor.

He was moving through the Palm Springs house.

I pictured the high ceilings and the concrete floors of his desert rental.

“They can’t be locked,” Chloe said, following my written prompt. “You said it was secure.”

“It was,” Lucas said. “I ran the test transfers yesterday.”

“You made a mistake,” I said, stepping closer to the phone.

There was a sharp, sudden intake of breath on the other end of the line.

“Anne?” he whispered.

“Yes, Lucas,” I said.

“You did this,” he said.

His voice turned cold, the panic briefly replaced by pure venom.

“I stopped you,” I said.

“How?” he demanded. “How did you get the bank to freeze the funds so fast?”

“I didn’t have to,” I said. “Melanie did.”

A long silence stretched over the line.

The air in our Denver kitchen felt heavy and cold.

Outside, a light snow was beginning to fall against the windowpane.

In California, the sun was likely shining hot on his rented terrace.

“Melanie doesn’t know anything,” Lucas said, but his voice lacked conviction.