I took a breath and told my son the truth. “About forty-one million dollars, Derek.” The line went silent, and then I heard Lindsay gasp so loudly it crackled through the speaker. Her voice came next, syrupy and warm, a voice I had not heard in three years. “Mom Josephine, we have been such fools. We are driving to you right now.” I told them not to come. They hung up anyway.

Forty minutes later, headlights swept across my living room wall. Through the window I saw Derek and Lindsay hurrying up my walk, and between them, in a pink coat over her pajamas, stood little Hazel, clutching something to her chest. Lindsay knocked, smiling too brightly. Then Hazel slipped from her mother’s hand, ran to my door, and whispered through the mail slot, “Grandma, please don’t let them take it. I know what Mommy hid in the car.”