Father stopped laughing.

The breeze blew a strand of Chloe’s blonde hair across her face, but she did not brush it away.

She was staring at me, her fingers still clutching my forearm.

“What files, Maya?” Chloe asked, her voice barely audible over the hum of the pool filter.

I looked at Chloe, seeing the confusion and the first tiny cracks of fear in her wide blue eyes.

“The files from Father’s private study,” I said.

Father took another step, his shadow completely covering mine.

“You went into my office,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“I did,” I said. “I have been going into your office for three years.”

Mother reached out, grabbing Father’s linen sleeve.

“Richard, keep your voice down,” she pleaded, her eyes darting toward the caterers by the bar.

Father ignored her, keeping his eyes locked on mine.

“You are a thief,” Father said. “Nothing you took from my desk belongs to you.”

“The insurance settlement from the fire belonged to me,” I said.

The silence that followed was heavy.

I could hear the water lapping against the skimmer of the pool.