Part 23

The call came from a Washington, D.C. area code. Normally, that detail wouldn’t matter—until it did.

I was in the workshop, late afternoon light turning sawdust into slow-moving glitter. Emma had left the day before for freshman orientation. The house felt too quiet without her—not empty, but quieter in the way a place loses a heartbeat.

I wiped my hands on a rag and answered.

“Mr. Carter?” a man said. Formal, clipped.

“Yes.”

“Special Agent Daniel Voss, Portland field office. Calling about the Morrison matter and the Lone Sharks investigation.”

My shoulders tightened.

“Go on,” I said.

“We’re finalizing asset forfeiture related to that gambling ring. You were listed as a victim, but secondary considerations exist regarding recovered funds.”

“Recovered funds,” I repeated.

“The offshore account?”

“Yes.”

I felt the air thin.

I hadn’t asked the balance before. Didn’t want the sweetness of stolen money. I’d pushed it into Emma’s trust, hoping the poison would turn clean.

Now a federal agent was calling about it.

“How much?” I asked.

“I can’t say on the phone,” Voss said. “The account links to laundering. Any traced funds may be seized.”

Seizure.

I closed my eyes, saw Emma choosing civil engineering, declaring herself. I tasted metal behind my teeth.

“What does this mean for her trust?” I asked.