Father immediately reached down to grab it.

But I was faster.

I kicked the microphone away, sending it sliding across the wet flagstones toward the pool.

It splashed into the water.

A loud, dying pop echoed from the speakers, and then there was silence.

The amplifier hummed and went dead.

Father stood up, his face red, his breathing heavy.

“It is over,” he said.

“Go to your room.”

“It is not over,” I said.

I raised my voice, using the silence of the backyard to my advantage.

My natural voice was clear, carried by the brick walls of the patio.

“I don’t need a microphone to tell them about the money,” I said.

Father froze.

The color drained from his face, leaving it a sickly gray.

Mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

“Maya, don’t,” Mother whispered.

“What money?” Chloe asked.

She looked between Mother and me.

“What is she talking about, Mom?”

Mother didn’t answer.

She looked at the ground, her shoulders trembling.

“The insurance settlement,” I said, looking directly at Chloe.

“The money from the utility company after the fire.”