I saw Brittany standing at the register with the drawer open. She slid a thick fold of cash into her apron pocket, and Trevor caught her eye and nodded, as if they had done it a hundred times. My shoulder throbbed, but I forgot the pain. On the wall behind them, my mother’s portrait smiled down on all of it.

Trevor grabbed my collar again. “I said get out, or I’ll call the police myself!” I pulled my phone from the inner pocket, where the camera had been recording since one o’clock, and held it up. “Please do,” I said quietly. Brittany’s face drained of color. Then Jenna stepped between us, trembling. “Mr. Walter,” she whispered, “I know who you are. And I have something in the back office you need to see.”