The female marshal didn’t blink. “Sit down, sir.”

He sat.

The restaurant fell into near silence, broken only by the faint hum of a neon beer sign above the bar and my mother’s shallow, rapid breathing. Neil reached for her hand, but she pulled away so sharply his water glass tipped and spilled across the white tablecloth.

“What package?” I asked, because no one else would.

The second marshal, a broad-shouldered man with a trimmed beard, pulled out a photo and placed it beside the cake. It showed a black metal lockbox, about the size of a toolbox, edges scuffed, a strip of red evidence tape stretched across the latch.

My stomach dropped.

I had seen it.

Not tonight—three nights ago.

I looked at Mom, and from the way the color drained from her face, I knew she understood I’d seen it too.

“Ma’am,” the marshal said to her, “that box was under federal seizure order. It was tagged in connection with an ongoing investigation. It disappeared from the Hawthorn Lane property approximately twelve hours before the sale was finalized.”

Daniel turned to Mom, disbelief on his face. “You told me the place was cleared out.”

“I told you to leave it alone,” Mom snapped.

The entire table flinched.

The woman marshal’s attention returned to me. “Miss Carter, witnesses place your car near the property this week.”

Daniel whipped his head toward me. “You went there?”

I should have lied. Instead, the truth spilled out. “Mom called me. She sounded terrified. She said I needed to check if anyone had been inside the house.”

Mom shut her eyes.

I continued. “I found the back door unlocked. The place looked ransacked, like someone had searched it. In the basement storage room there was a metal box on the floor, like the one in the photo. But I didn’t take it.”

The bearded marshal leaned forward. “Did you open it?”

“No.”

That part was true. I had touched it, though. It was heavier than it looked, with a number stenciled on the side. I didn’t understand what it was—only that the silence in that basement felt wrong, like someone had just left.

Daniel let out a short, humorless laugh. “So that’s what this is? You trespassed, found something illegal, and now everyone’s pretending I’m the villain because I sold a condemned house?”

“Condemned?” Mom stared at him. “That house was never condemned.”

The table froze again.

Daniel’s expression shifted—just slightly. Too late.