I was moved to the garage.

I had never heard the name Marcus Trent in my life.

Daniel turned his phone toward me.

It was an email from the bank's fraud department, sent while we were still talking to Officer Reyes.

The four-thousand-dollar consulting payment had triggered a secondary flag.

The account it was sent to had been previously reported in connection with a different fraud case — not in Illinois.

In Arizona.

"What kind of fraud?" I asked.

"Elder financial exploitation," Daniel said.

"Two years ago.

The case was settled out of court.

The account holder — Marcus Trent — was never charged."

I looked at the email.

Then I looked at the back door Javier had just walked through.

"He's done this before," I said.

Daniel set the phone down.

"That's what I'm thinking."

It landed differently than I expected.

Not shock — I was past shock by then.

Something heavier.

The understanding that I had not been the first.

That somewhere in Arizona there was another older person who had signed something they shouldn't have, who had watched their savings disappear line by line, who had maybe also been told they were confused.

"We need to tell Reyes," I said.

Daniel was already dialing.

While he stepped into the hallway, Gabriela came into the kitchen.

She had washed her face.

Her eyes were still swollen but her voice was steadier.

"Can I sit down?" she asked.

"It's your father's house," Daniel called from the hallway.

"Ask him."

She looked at me.

"Sit down, Gabriela," I said.

She sat across from me — the same chair Reyes had used — and folded her hands on the table the way she used to when she was small and had done something wrong and was trying to figure out how to say it.

"How long did you know?" I asked.

She didn't look away.

I gave her credit for that.

"The bank statements," she said.

"I saw one in February.

I asked him about it and he said you'd agreed to let him manage everything.

He said you were relieved to have the help."

"Did you believe him?"

A long pause.

"I wanted to," she said.

"That's not the same as believing him.

I know that now."

"When did he first put his hands on me?"

Her jaw tightened.

"March.

The night you asked him about the debit card."

"You were there for that."

"Yes."

"And the garage.

Whose idea was the garage?"

She looked down at her hands.

"He said it was temporary.

He said you'd been shouting at him and the neighbors were going to start asking questions and it was just until things settled down." She stopped.

"I told myself it was temporary."

"It was two days, Gabriela."

"I know."

"I was drinking from a garden hose."

She pressed her lips together hard.

Her shoulders shook once, then held.

"I know," she said again.

The words came out barely above a whisper.

Daniel came back into the kitchen.

"Reyes is sending the email to the financial crimes unit tonight.

The Arizona connection bumps it to priority." He looked at Gabriela.

"They're going to want to talk to you too."

"I'll talk to them," she said.

"I'll tell them everything."

"Including the garage?"

"Including everything."

Daniel studied her for a moment.

Then he pulled out the chair beside me and sat down.

"Where is Javier now?" I asked.

"Reyes said he drove away about twenty minutes ago.

He's allowed to leave the property — they can't hold him without a warrant.

But his name is flagged.

If he tries to access any account connected to you, the bank will freeze it and notify the fraud unit automatically."

"What about the money he already took?"

"That's what the State's Attorney is for," Daniel said.

"It won't be fast.

But it's recoverable.

Most of it."

I nodded.

I looked around my kitchen — the yellow curtains Elena had picked out, the ceramic rooster on the counter she'd bought at a market in Guadalajara the year we turned fifty, the small crack in the tile near the stove that I had been meaning to fix for six years.

Everything still in its place.

"I want to sleep in my own bed tonight," I said.

"Then you will," Daniel said.

Gabriela reached across the table and put her hand over mine.

I didn't pull away.

But Daniel's phone buzzed again.

He looked at it.

His face went still in a way I recognized — the same stillness from the garage doorway, when he was working something out.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Javier just used your debit card," he said.

"Gas station.