I unlocked the screen, opening the document folder I had spent months compiling.

It contained the scanned bank statements from our father’s business account.

It contained the transfer receipts.

I tapped a button on the screen.

Suddenly, a sharp, repetitive chime sounded from the pocket of Chloe’s sundress.

Another chime sounded from Mother’s purse on the patio table.

And then, several other phones in the crowd began to ping.

I had sent the group email.

The email containing every single financial record from the last ten years.

Chloe reached slowly into her pocket and pulled out her phone.

Her thumb trembled as she tapped the screen.

She looked at the document, her eyes scanning the columns of numbers.

“What is this?” Chloe whispered.

“That is the paper trail,” I said.

“Look at the dates, Chloe.”

“Look at the tuition payments for your private academy.”

“Look at the fees for your modeling portfolio in New York.”

“Every single dollar came from the medical trust fund.”

Chloe stared at the screen, her face turning pale.

She looked at Father.

“Dad?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Is this true?”