“FBI! Hands where we can see them!” he barked, stepping into the foyer, weapon at low-ready.

Chloe let out a shrill, indignant shriek. “What is the meaning of this? This is private property! Clara, have you lost your mind? You can’t just barge in here with guns!”

I walked into the dining room, hands folded behind my back, my boots echoing on the hardwood.

“Actually, Chloe, I can,” I said, my voice flattening. “Because as of three hours ago, I’m the court-appointed emergency conservator of this estate. And you’re standing in a crime scene.”

Brandon stepped forward, flushed, sweat on his forehead. “Clara, listen to me. Dad’s unhinged — you saw him at the precinct! He attacked Chloe! We were just protecting the family assets before he lost his mind!”

“Save it for the grand jury, Brandon.” I pulled a clear evidence bag from my pocket and set it on the table: the medical photos of Dad’s wrists, the toxicology report, the analysis of his missing heart medication.