The officer stepped through the gate and looked down into the deep end, which Dad had drained the night before. Roderick stopped shouting mid-sentence. I had never watched a man lose his color so fast. Isolde gripped the fence and kept repeating that it was only a swimming pool, that there was nothing to find.

The elderly woman touched my sleeve. “Your father never cared about the money,” she said quietly. Dad pulled back a tarp beside the filter shed, and underneath sat a rusted steel box, its lid already open. The officer lifted out a yellowed document, read it, and turned slowly. “Mr. Vance, this deed carries Tobias Hallow’s signature, but he was buried six months before the date on it. Care to explain?” Roderick opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Then Dad finally spoke.