“Federal agents!” Ethan shouted, his voice carrying down the street. “Drop the weapon! Hands in the air!”

Garrick froze, his arms shaking. “You set me up,” he whispered.

“No. You made every choice yourself.”

He glanced back toward his running truck.

“Don’t even think about it,” Ethan warned, tightening his grip on his rifle.

The pistol clattered against the porch boards. The tactical agents took him down and cuffed him while he screamed that my mother belonged to him, that the money was his, that none of us knew who we were dealing with.