“And three years ago she spent forty-one thousand two hundred dollars of family money that was meant for you and Emma on Vanessa’s granite countertops.”

“And you knew all about it,” I said.

Harold folded his handkerchief into a small square on the table.

“I sat at the desk in my study, wrote every dollar into my ledger, and kept my mouth shut because I didn’t want one more fight in the house.”

“Why hand this over now?” I asked.

He looked up at me, his eyes pale behind his lenses.

“Because on Sunday I watched Emma clutching her purple rabbit Barnaby, too scared to walk into the kitchen.