The patrol car pulled up outside a small brick house with a wooden ramp. Lily’s father, Mr. Ramirez, stood on the porch in a work jacket, his eyes red. He walked straight to Ethan and held out a shaking hand. “Son, I have been trying to find the boy who did this since last night,” he said. “Lily rolled into our kitchen and told us a friend bought her the chair. Then she showed us what was taped underneath the seat.”

He opened his palm. Inside lay a folded note in Ethan’s handwriting and a small silver guitar pick engraved with the letter E. “She said you left it for luck,” he whispered. Ethan’s cheeks burned. Then the front door opened, and a tall man in a gray suit stepped out, holding a leather case. Mr. Ramirez swallowed hard. “This man has been waiting since dawn. He says he bought your guitar.”