The records showed something I had never bothered to check. For three years, every month, the money I sent to Marilyn and Frank had been forwarded within hours to a second account, and the name on that account was Kelsey Dunn. Marilyn and Frank had never needed treatment. Both were perfectly healthy, and they had been funneling my money to their son’s mistress while smiling at me across holiday tables.

Four days later, my phone buzzed with a security alert from the house. On the camera, Grant’s car pulled into the driveway. Kelsey stepped out, one hand on her pregnant stomach, holding a little boy in a dinosaur jacket. Grant marched to the front door with a key in his hand, grinning. Then he stopped. Someone was standing on the porch, and the door behind that person was wide open.