By midnight, I had frozen the card, removed myself as co-signer on Dad’s car loan, and cancelled the autopay on the house insurance. Then I opened the shared bank account that covered their utilities and paused every transfer. My phone stayed silent until six the next morning, when it exploded. Dad called first, then Carol, then Brandon. I let each one ring and watched the number of missed calls climb to forty.

At nine, a text from Dad read: “The airline says our tickets were cancelled. What did you do?” I answered with one line: “I only removed my name.” Minutes later, headlights swept across my apartment window. Through the glass I saw Dad’s car, and Carol hurrying up the walk with a thick folder. She pounded on the door and shouted, “Owen, open up! We know about the audit.”