I could feel her shivering.

“The fund established by your grandmother after the accident,” Detective Miller said to Chloe.

He did not look at her; his eyes stayed on my father.

“It was meant to cover Maya’s reconstructive surgeries,” the detective added.

“There were no surgeries,” Chloe whispered.

She looked at me, her eyes scanning my face, then down to my long sleeves.

“Because he told us the money was gone,” I said.

My own voice sounded strange to me.

It was calm, devoid of the anger that had burned inside me for years.

“He told us the insurance covered nothing,” I said.

My mother let out a low sob.

“We had to pay the bills, Maya,” she whimpered. “We had to keep this house.”

“You kept the house,” I said, “and you kept me in the dark.”

The detective tapped the folder against his leg.

“Mr. Vance, Mrs. Vance, you are being taken in for formal questioning regarding the misappropriation of these funds.”

“This is a mistake,” my father said.

He tried to straighten his shoulders, to assume his usual posture of authority.