The older officer stepped out of the cruiser, glanced at the wreck, and then looked straight at Mom. “Ma’am, which one of you instructed Mr. Caleb to report this vehicle as stolen?” Nobody answered. Camille’s smile slipped. Jordan lowered the tire iron. The officer tapped the small camera clipped to his chest. “Because we heard that sentence on the open line, ma’am. The whole thing.”

Mom’s face drained of color. “Open line?” she whispered. I turned my phone around. The call screen showed an active connection to the police dispatcher, and it had been recording since I first lifted the phone. Then the second officer held up a tablet and said, “Jordan, the dealership also called us this morning about your pickup. Would you like to explain that, or should we?”