We sat there in Mama’s kitchen, the money between us on the counter, and I watched my brother decide how much to admit.

I could see it happening on his face — the same quick math from before, the weighing of what I already knew against what he might still keep.

He was not a good liar; he never had been.

Delroy was the smooth one.

Lonnie was only the one who’d gone along, and going along had left a softness in him that the truth was pressing on now.

Part of me wanted to shake him.