“They had already started arranging to sell my grandmother’s lake cottage,” the officer said, “the one she left to you and Jenna.” He slid a second sheet across the table. It was a deed transfer form, and my forged signature was already inked on the line. Grandma Ruth had made me promise the cottage would never leave the family. Every summer of my childhood lived inside those walls.

Then my phone buzzed on the table. It was a text from Jenna, sent three minutes earlier. “Rachel, please don’t sign anything they send you. Derek isn’t hurt. He owes dangerous people a lot of money, and one of them is outside Mom and Dad’s house right now. He has been watching my car.” Below it, one more message appeared. “He just walked toward me.”