I closed my eyes for a second.

The review had reached farther than I had dared hope, out past my branch and the orange sticker, all the way to an account in Dubai and a man in a room being asked questions.

“Kiki,” she said, and for the first time since this began she sounded smaller than her anger.

“I need help.” I asked what kind.

She hesitated.

Then: “Call Mom and Dad.” And there, in three words from an ocean away, was the whole thing laid bare.