Before my thumb could open the attachment, my mother clapped her hands together, the sound cracking across the yard like a ringmaster’s whip.

“Everyone!

Gather around the driveway, please!” she sang, her voice sugared to the point of pain.

“It’s time for the main event — time for our birthday girls to receive their tokens of love!”

I looked down at the warning burning on my screen, a sick certainty forming: something was badly wrong with the money.

But the crowd was already shifting, the trap already springing, and I had to shove the phone back into my pocket — not yet understanding that the alert sitting against my chest was the fuse to something that would take our whole family apart.