The police arrived in two cars.

Ethan met them at the front door while Douglas stood in the ballroom entrance, making sure no one left.

Most of the guests hadn't tried.

A few had quietly taken seats along the walls, as if they understood that leaving now would mean something they didn't want it to mean.

The lead officer was a woman named Sergeant Calloway.

She was calm and unhurried in the way of someone who had walked into difficult rooms before and knew the first job was to understand the shape of the room before doing anything else.

"Mr.

Callahan," she said.

"Can you walk me through what happened tonight?"

"I can do better than that," Ethan said.

He held up the tablet.

They stood in the hallway for twelve minutes.

Ethan played both recordings.

Calloway listened without interrupting.

Her partner took notes.

When the M-Nov file finished, Calloway looked at the tablet for a moment, then at Ethan.

"How long were you overseas?"

"Seven months."

"And your daughters were in this woman's care the entire time?"

"Vanessa was the household manager.

My aunt Miriam held the household account.

I sent money every month.

I thought—" He stopped.

"I thought they were being cared for."

Calloway nodded slowly.

"I'm going to need to speak with your daughters.

With a family advocate present.

Not tonight — they've had enough tonight.

But soon."

"Whatever you need."

She looked toward the ballroom.

"Is everyone still in there?"

"Douglas has been keeping an eye on the room.

Miriam asked to call her attorney.

Grant hasn't moved since he sat down.

Vanessa tried to leave and one of the guests stopped her."

Something shifted in Calloway's expression — not quite a smile, but close to one.

"Which guest?"

"Ruth Albright.

She just stood in the way.

Didn't say a word."

"Good instincts." Calloway turned to her partner.

"Go check on the room.

Don't let anyone leave." She turned back to Ethan.

"Where are your daughters now?"

"Kitchen.

My housekeeper, Mrs.

Parrish — she came in through the back when she heard the commotion.

She's with them."

For the first time since he'd walked through the front door, Ethan felt something loosen in his chest.

Mrs.

Parrish had worked in the house since before the girls were born.

She was the one person in the building he didn't have to question.

"Go be with them," Calloway said.

"I'll come find you."

He found all four girls at the kitchen table.

Mrs.

Parrish had put warm socks on their feet and was making toast — real toast, with butter — and had set a small glass of milk in front of each of them.

Harper was eating.

The other three were watching Harper eat, as if they needed to see it was allowed before they started.

Ethan sat down at the table.

Lily climbed immediately into his lap.

Rosie leaned against his arm.

Mae, the quietest of the four, pushed her toast toward him first before taking a piece for herself.

He didn't say anything.

He just sat there with them while the sounds from the ballroom filtered through the walls — voices, footsteps, Calloway's measured questions, and once, sharply, Miriam's voice rising before being cut short.

Mrs.

Parrish set a cup of tea in front of Ethan without being asked.

"I should have called you," she said quietly, her back to him, her hands busy at the counter.

"I knew something was wrong.

I could see it every time I came to collect the laundry.

But Miriam told me my position was conditional on her approval, and I—" Her voice caught.

"I should have called you anyway."

"You're here now," Ethan said.

She turned around.

Her eyes were red.

"Those babies were hungry, Ethan."

"I know."

"For months.

Not just tonight."

He looked at his daughters.

Mae was eating now.

Rosie had finished her toast and was eyeing a second piece.

"I know," he said again.

From the hallway came the sound of footsteps — more than two people.

Then Calloway's voice, clear and official: "Mrs.

Miriam Callahan, I need you to come with me, please."

A pause.

Then Miriam's voice, stripped now of every layer of warmth it had ever carried: "This is absurd.

I am a guest in this house.

I have done nothing except manage a difficult situation in my nephew's absence, and I will not be treated like a—"

"Ma'am." Calloway's tone didn't change.

"Please come with me."

The footsteps moved toward the front door.

Harper looked up at Ethan.

"Is the lady going away?"

"Yes," he said.

"Is she coming back?"

He looked at the door.

Through the wall, he heard the front entrance open, then close.

"No," he said.

"She's not coming back."