The front door swung open, and two uniformed officers stepped in first. Behind them came the building’s security chief, Mr. Ortega, and a woman in a dark blazer holding a federal badge. Delia let the poker slip from her hands, and it clanged against the marble floor. “Ma’am, step away from the office door,” the woman said calmly. The three children froze in the living room, staring wide eyed.

Delia stammered that it was only a family matter and that I had given permission. The woman raised her phone and played Delia’s own voice from the footage: “This apartment is family property now!” Then she looked up at the camera and said, “Deputy Brennan, we have her.” I whispered thank you from Dublin. She opened a folder and added, “There is something else. Your father’s document was filed three weeks ago.” My stomach dropped.