I looked down at the laptop screen one last time.

The officers were wheeling Lucas out of the glass entryway.

His head was bowed, his expensive linen shirt wrinkled and stained.

A crowd of neighbors had gathered on the palm-lined street, watching the arrest.

I closed the laptop lid, shutting out the bright California sun.

The kitchen was cold, the silence stretching between Chloe and me.

“I’m so sorry, Anne,” Chloe said, her voice barely a whisper.

“I believed every word he said.”

“I know,” I said, rubbing her arm. “He was very good at making people believe him.”

She looked at the manila envelope on the table.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“Now we clean up the mess he made,” I said.

I picked up the envelope, feeling the weight of the papers inside.

It was the evidence of a stolen life, finally returned to its rightful owners.

I walked to the kitchen window and looked out at the snow covering the Denver yard.

The air was freezing, but for the first time in years, I could breathe.