Take the money, pay his debts, and by the time I surfaced from my grief enough to notice, present it all as done, irreversible, and mine to somehow answer for.

I backed up every statement.

I screenshotted every transaction.

I forwarded all of it to Phoebe.

My hands, I noticed, had stopped shaking.

There is a point past which horror stops making you tremble and begins making you very, very still.