He reached out and took the phone from my father’s hand.

“Arthur,” my mother whispered, her voice barely a squeak.

She looked small in her silk designer dress.

The police officer beside her tightened his grip on her arm.

“The transaction was declined,” Detective Miller said, looking at the screen.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” my father said.

His voice was flat, but his chin trembled.

“You tried to move four hundred thousand dollars into an offshore account,” the detective said.

The guests near the buffet table gasped.

I saw Mrs. Gable, our neighbor, lower her champagne glass.

Her eyes were wide, fixed on my father’s hands.

“That is my personal account,” my father said.

“No, sir,” the detective said. “That is the medical trust registered under Maya Vance.”

The words felt like a physical blow.

I looked at the blue water of the pool.

The underwater lights made the water glow like a giant neon sign.

My name, my trust, my pain.

“What trust?” Chloe asked.

Her voice was high and cracked.

She stepped closer to me, her shoulder brushing against mine.