Tori thought she could leave four children with me while she flew to Japan, but she forgot one important detail: I had a flight of my own that afternoon, and I wasn't canceling it this time.

By noon the following day, the financial networks were running special reports on what the media had dubbed the "Vance Syndicate Collapse."

On the television in the Seville apartment, financial commentators analyzed the sudden liquidation of three major investment banks tied to Roland Vance's offshore network. The ticker tape at the bottom of the screen showed Vance Holdings plummeting by seventy-eight percent in pre-market trading.

My phone rang again. It was Patrice, her voice buzzing with triumphant energy.

"The federal judge signed the emergency injunction, Myrna," Patrice announced. "The fraudulent deed Caleb signed has been completely voided. The farm is officially back in your sole name, clean and clear. The mortgage liens have been struck from the county registry."

"And the children?" I asked. That was the only question that truly mattered now.

"The court granted temporary protective custody to your sister Evelyn in Concord," Patrice said, her tone softening. "The kids are safe. Evelyn picked them up from child services this morning. They're at her house now, eating pancakes."

A heavy weight that had sat on my chest for what felt like years finally lifted. "And Caleb and Tori?"

"Caleb was released on secured bail, wearing an ankle monitor. He’s staying in a motel in Manchester. He’s facing five years for wire fraud, though the prosecutor might reduce it to probation if he testifies against Roland’s associates. Tori’s bail was denied—she tried to hide two hundred thousand dollars in cash in her sister’s storage unit right before the marshals arrived. She’s sitting in the Hillsborough County Department of Corrections."

"Good," I said without hesitation. "Let her stay there until she learns that family isn't a leverage chip."

"When are you coming home, Myrna?" Patrice asked. "The grand jury wants your sworn deposition by Friday."

I looked across the small room at Lind, who was carefully bandaging his ribs with clean dressings. On the table, Arthur's ledger lay open, its long-kept secrets finally spent.