“Sir, step away from the desk,” a new voice said.

It was a firm, professional voice.

“This is my house!” Mark shouted.

“Sir, keep your hands where we can see them,” the officer said.

There was a sound of a struggle.

A chair slid across the floor in the study next door.

A glass object fell and shattered.

Patricia screamed.

“Don’t touch him!” she yelled. “He hasn’t done anything!”

“Patricia, sit down,” the officer said.

I closed my eyes.

The sound of my mother’s favorite vase breaking was unmistakable.

It was the blue ceramic one she had brought back from Italy.

“Thomas,” I said.

“I am here, Claire,” he said.

“Is this the only way?” I asked.

“It is the only way to save Hartwell,” Thomas said.

The noise from the study grew louder.

The sound of metal clicking together echoed down the hall.

“You’re making a mistake!” Mark yelled. “She set me up!”

“Walk,” the officer said.

The footsteps moved back toward the front door.

I did not look out the window to watch them leave.

I could not bear to see Mark in handcuffs on the gravel.