My parents called at 1 A.M. screaming, “Wire $20,000—your brother’s in the ER!” I asked one question… and they dodged it. So I said, “Call your favorite daughter,” hung up, and went back to sleep. The next morning… police were at my door.

Everything in me tightened. Mark has a special talent for acting like other people’s pain is background noise.

Green continued, still calm. “Olivia’s bank flagged an attempted wire template created in her name this morning. That suggests someone had enough information to try to initiate a transfer.”

My father’s jaw clenched. “Are you accusing us?”

Green’s voice didn’t rise. “I’m stating facts. If you’re innocent, facts will clear you. If you’re not, facts will catch you.”

My mother’s eyes darted to my father like she wanted him to say the right thing, the saving thing.

He said nothing.

Emily’s breathing sped up, shallow and fast.

I watched her, remembering how my parents had always soothed her, always explained her away. Emily never learned to sit in discomfort. Discomfort was something other people handled for her.

Green turned to Mark. “Do you have any current medical issues?”

Mark scoffed. “No.”

Green nodded. “Any recent threats against you? Any reason someone would claim you were harmed?”

Mark hesitated for half a second. Barely visible. But my whole life has trained me to spot Mark’s half seconds.

“No,” he said again, too quick.

Green’s eyes held him. “Okay.”

Then she looked at Emily. “Do you have a bank account in your name?”

Emily’s eyes widened. “Of course.”

Green nodded. “Have you given anyone your account information recently?”

Emily swallowed. “No.”

Green’s tone stayed even. “Have you asked anyone for money recently?”

Emily’s cheeks flushed. “No.”

I heard my own voice in my head, sharp as the one a.m. call.

Call your favorite daughter.

Emily’s lip trembled. “This is insane.”

My mother stepped forward, hands lifted like she was trying to gather Emily up and shield her. “Honey, it’s okay—”

Green’s gaze cut to my mother. “Ma’am, please step back.”

My mother froze, offended by being told no.

Mark set his mug down too hard. “This is harassment.”

Green didn’t blink. “No, sir. This is an investigation.”

Ramirez stood near the doorway, quiet but solid, like a wall. Hensley watched, eyes moving, taking in details: Emily’s shaking hands, Mark’s too-casual posture, my father’s clenched jaw, my mother’s frantic attempts to control the narrative.

Then Green said, “We’re going to ask for phones. All of them. Voluntary cooperation can resolve this faster.”

My dad’s head snapped up. “You can’t just—”

“We can request,” Green corrected. “And we can get a warrant if necessary.”

Silence fell.