I held my mother’s ledger against my chest.

I looked at the three of them. Megan, soaked and bewildered. Ryan, pinned and finished. And my father — staring at the leather book in my hands like I was holding a live grenade.

“Claire.” His voice trembled. He took one small step and a deputy put him back against the wall. “Claire, sweetheart. Please. Don’t open that book. You don’t understand the context.”

“I understand perfectly,” I said, and my voice came out clear and hard over the storm. “I understand that Mom didn’t leave her money to you. She left a trust for me, to protect me from you.

And I understand that you forged documents to steal it so you could cover Ryan’s two-hundred-thousand-dollar gambling debt.”

Megan’s head snapped toward her husband. “Gambling debt? Ryan — you told me it was a bad investment. You told me we lost our house because of the market.”