The police bagged the drives, took the forged documents, and hauled my family off in three separate cars. The sirens faded into the swallowing white of the blizzard, and the property settled back into the isolated dark of a Connecticut winter.

I went into the kitchen and made coffee. My hands shook so badly I spilled grounds across the granite, the adrenaline crash landing on me like weather.

I poured two mugs and carried them in.

Grandpa had moved his chair closer to the hearth and was watching the embers die.

“It’s over,” I said, handing him one. The porcelain rattled against my rings. “They’re gone. Agent Miller says the offshore lender is already under federal investigation.

The house is safe. You’re safe.”