“I know your books are clean, Camila.”

“Ethan knew I paid them too,” I said.

“He watched me transfer the money from my business account every month.”

“Then we’re going back to Elm Street to get your keys,” he said, his voice quiet and steady as he turned the sedan back onto the highway.

We turned onto Elm Street at a quarter past three.

The afternoon shadow of the giant pin oak lay across the front lawn of the Harrison house, stretching all the way to the street.

My father parked his sedan right behind the dark blue Toyota SUV in the gravel driveway.