I set the phone on the wooden table, switching it to speaker.

“Miss Vance,” the detective’s voice crackled through the static. “We have the suspects who broke into the Northline warehouse in custody.”

“Did they have the safe?” I asked.

“Yes, they were caught loading it into a rental truck registered to a dummy corporation,” Harris said.

My father took a step back, his boots creaking on the pine floorboards.

His hand, still gray with soot from the burned fireplace ashes, began to tremble.

“They also had tools that match the forced entry on the side doors,” Harris added.

“Thank you, Detective,” I said. “Keep them secured. I will call you back in five minutes with the final details.”

“We will wait for your call,” he said.

I pressed the mute button but did not hang up the call.

The silence in the cabin returned, heavier than the storm outside.

I reached into my heavy wool coat and pulled out a thick blue folder.

“What is that?” my mother asked, her voice cracking.

I tossed the folder onto the table next to the phone.