Mom’s knees gave out on the porch step, and I helped her to the kitchen while Agent Hartley waited by the door. She sat at the table where Grandma used to shell peas, staring at her hands. “Mason, I swear I did not know he would go this far,” she whispered. “He owes people money. A lot of it. He told me the house would fix everything.”

Before I could answer, a black SUV rolled up the driveway and stopped at the curb. Three men stepped out, none of them smiling. The tallest one walked straight to the open door, ignoring the officers entirely, and held up a stamped paper. “Mr. Whitfield’s house was pledged to us as security this week,” he said calmly. “We are here to collect what we are owed.” Then he looked at me and smiled.