He was the man who ran the country club board.

He was the man who decided which neighbors were invited to our parties.

Now, his expensive leather shoes slid slightly on the wet concrete near the pool.

“We have the bank logs, Arthur,” Detective Miller said.

He signaled to the other two officers.

“Please step forward.”

The officer behind my father pulled his hands behind his back.

The metal handcuffs clicked.

The sound was incredibly loud in the quiet yard.

A balloon popped near the patio stairs, the sharp bang making everyone jump.

Nobody laughed.

“Arthur!” my mother screamed.

She began to struggle, her heels clicking uselessly against the stone tiles.

“Quiet down, ma’am,” the officer holding her said.

“We didn’t do anything wrong!” she cried out to the crowd of guests. “Tell them, Evelyn! Tell them!”

Mrs. Gable turned her face away, looking down at her manicured nails.

The betrayal was public, laid out on the patio beside the uneaten lobster rolls.

“Let’s go,” Detective Miller said.

They began to lead my parents toward the side gate.

My father walked with his head down, his eyes fixed on the grass.