“But that’s not what the document in this box says.”

Chloe stepped closer to me, her anger fading into confusion.

“Maya, what is in that box?” she asked.

“Show me.”

I reached into the box to pull out the yellowed paper.

Before my fingers could touch it, Father lunged forward.

He snatched the wooden box from my hands.

The latch broke with a sharp snap, and the burnt paper fluttered out.

It drifted through the air, landing near the edge of the pool.

“This is over,” Father said, his voice shaking with rage.

“Everyone leave.”

“The party is over.”

The guests began to move quickly, murmuring as they headed for the side gate.

But Chloe did not move.

She was staring at the paper floating on the surface of the water.

She took a step toward the pool, her eyes wide.

Mother took a step toward her, her hand reaching out.

“Chloe, don’t,” Mother sobbed, her voice trembling.

“Please, don’t look.”

Just then, the glass door to the house slid open again.

A second man, younger and wearing a police uniform, stepped onto the patio.