The door burst open, and two men in dark jackets stepped inside, followed by a woman holding a leather briefcase. “Trevor Hollis?” the taller man asked. Trevor’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. The woman placed a badge on the coffee table and said calmly, “We are with the county sheriff’s office, and we have a court order regarding this property.” Gloria clutched her pearls. “This is our home!” she shrieked.

I stayed quiet and watched the woman open her briefcase. “Actually, ma’am,” she said, sliding out a thick packet, “the bank foreclosed on this house three weeks ago, and Trevor has ignored every notice. But that is not why we are here.” She turned to Trevor, her voice dropping. “We are here about the forty thousand dollars you took from three different people, using a company that never existed.” His knees gave out, and he sank onto the couch.