And Caleb —” I finally looked at my brother — “the kitchen camera recorded you opening the gas last night.”

Caleb’s knees went. He slid down the wallpaper and put his face in his hands and let out an ugly, splitting sob. “Mom made me do it!” he wailed, one shaking finger pointed at her.

“They said the bookies were going to break my legs!”

“Shut your mouth, Caleb!” my father roared, the respectable businessman gone in an instant. “This is inadmissible! You have no right! I want my lawyer!”

“You’re going to need several,” Agent Miller said, and signaled the officers. “Grant and Elaine Whitaker. You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit fraud, financial exploitation of an elder, and interstate wire fraud.”

The orderlies dropped the restraint jacket on the rug and bolted for the door and were met on the porch by two more officers coming the other way. Thorne was hyperventilating, chest heaving, as his arms were drawn behind him and the cuffs went on.