I answered it on the second ring.

“Claire,” a tired voice said.

It was Mark.

He sounded smaller than I had ever heard him, his usual booming confidence replaced by a hollow rasp.

“Why are you calling me, Mark?” I asked, keeping my voice flat.

“The police are at my mother’s apartment,” he said. “They have an arrest warrant for both of us.”

I stood by the kitchen window, watching a bluebird perch on the iron garden gate outside.

“I know,” I said.

“You don’t have to do this,” he pleaded. “We can settle this privately. I can repay the foundation accounts. It will take time, but I can do it.”

“With what money, Mark?” I asked. “The money you stole from my mother’s medical care fund?”

“It was an investment,” he stammered. “The market went down. I was going to put it back.”

“You bought a sports car for Juliette,” I said. “And you paid for her apartment in the city with checks drawn from my mother’s estate.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.