I never went back to that hotel.

I stayed at Sarah’s, beside Emily, while Daniel did the careful work that his thirty years had taught — going through the files without altering a date or a filename or a scrap of metadata, warning us not to send anything through messaging apps, not to delete a single thing, not to answer Rebecca with feeling.

“This isn’t a family argument now,” he said, and his voice was grave.

“This is fraud.