Chloe’s eyes darted to the pool, then back to me.

“So?” she asked. “A match fell?”

“Six-year-old children shouldn’t play with matches, Chloe,” I said.

She stared at me.

I could see the faint memory struggling to surface behind her eyes.

“I didn’t,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t.”

“You did,” I said. “You wanted to see the light.”

Mother stood up, stumbling toward us.

“Maya, stop it! She was a child!”

“And so was I,” I said. “But I paid for it.”

Suddenly, the phone in my father’s jacket pocket began to ring.

The ringtone was loud, breaking the silence of the backyard.

Father did not answer it.

He just stared at the phone in his hand as it vibrated.

At the same moment, the gate at the side of the yard creaked open again.

A woman in a dark business suit walked onto the patio, holding a leather folder.

She looked at the officer, then at my parents.

“Mr. Vance,” she said. “The board of directors just saw the stream.”

The woman in the suit took a step closer to the patio.