Gregory’s voice dropped. “There is a second account, Hannah, opened under your name two years ago, and it holds more than three million dollars. Someone signed as you in person at a downtown bank.” My hand tightened around the phone. Downstairs, Sierra’s laugh drifted up, light and careless. “Marcus was in Atlanta that day,” I whispered. Gregory paused. “Not according to the bank’s camera. And the woman who signed was not you.”

I crept to the top of the stairs. Sierra stood at the kitchen island with a leather folder, and Marcus was reading over it, his jaw tight. Then I heard her say, “Once she signs the final transfer, we are done.” My pulse thundered. I opened the voice recorder on my phone, pressed the button, and quietly started down the steps.