“When?” Father asked the caller.

The person on the other end spoke quickly, the sound of a tinny voice leaking from the receiver.

“I see,” Father said.

He ended the call without saying goodbye and let his hand drop to his side.

“What did they say?” Mother asked, stepping closer to him, her fingers clutching her pearl necklace.

“The injunction was denied,” Father said.

“They have the records, then,” I said.

Father looked at me, his eyes cold and empty of the authority he usually carried.

“They have everything,” he said.

From inside the house, a sudden crash shattered the silence.

It sounded like heavy ceramic smashing against the hardwood floor.

Mother gasped and turned toward the sliding glass doors.

Before she could move, the doors slid open again with a violent jerk.

Chloe stood in the doorway, her hair damp and tangled around her shoulders.

She had stripped off her expensive silk party wrap and was wearing only her swimsuit.

Her face was blotchy and red, tears cutting thick tracks through her makeup.

In her hand, she held the silver-framed portrait of our family that usually sat on the mantel.