Arthur’s paternal smile faltered, his eyes darting to the drive. “El? What is this? Why are you dressed like that? You should be resting.”

The door opened again. A uniformed officer led Vanessa Cole into the room. Her black cashmere was gone, replaced by a neon-orange county jumpsuit. Her wrists were shackled in heavy steel handcuffs.

Her mascara was smeared down her cheeks, making her look haggard and utterly broken.

She was forcefully seated next to Arthur. “Arthur, what the hell is going on?” Vanessa sobbed, pulling at her chains. “They raided my apartment! They found the storage unit!”

Arthur’s face went chalk white. He looked from Vanessa to me, the gears in his head grinding to a halt. “Ellen… what is this?”

“This,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, echoing off the concrete walls, “is the part where you stop performing, Dad. The audience has left the theater.”