The suitcase wheels clicked twice on the marble before I stopped dead in my own foyer.

Rafael's car was in the driveway when I got back.

Bianca's too.

Both of them still here, which meant they had decided that leaving would look like something.

I came through the front door without announcing myself.

They were in the living room — Rafael on the sofa, Bianca in the chair closest to the window, both of them with the particular stillness of people who had been talking before they heard the key in the lock.

A bottle of wine sat open on the coffee table.

Two glasses, both used.

Mama was not in the room.

"Where is she?" I said.

"Resting," Bianca said.

"We thought it would be good for her to lie down."

I walked down the hall to Mama's room and pushed the door open.

She was in bed, still wearing the uniform.

Someone had taken off her shoes and set them side by side near the closet, which was more care than the rest of it deserved.

She was awake.

Her eyes found me immediately.

"They said you left," she said.

"I came back."

She looked at the door behind me.

"Are they still here?"

"Yes." I sat on the edge of the bed.

"Mama.

I need to ask you something and I need you to tell me what you remember."

She waited.

"Do you remember signing papers for Rafael?

Documents?"

Her face did something careful.

"He said it was for the insurance."

"Did you read them?"

"He said they were complicated.

That I wouldn't understand." She looked at her hands in her lap.

"I told him I wanted to call you first.

He said you were busy.

That you had enough to worry about." A pause.

"I should have called you."

"This is not your fault."

"I know whose fault it is," she said quietly.

And for a moment she sounded exactly like herself — sharp and certain and completely present.

I squeezed her hand and went back to the living room.

Rafael stood when he saw my face.

"Sit down," I said.

He didn't.

"There was a transfer attempt on the property fourteen months ago," I said.

"An LLC.

The trust blocked it.

Six weeks ago someone filed again under a different structure."

"Property changes hands all the time —"

"Through a trust you have no legal standing in." I set the manila envelope on the coffee table between us.

"Cora kept records.

Bank statements.

Nineteen months of withdrawals from Mama's savings account.

Each one just under the notification threshold."

Bianca's glass went down on the table.

"One hundred and eighty thousand dollars," I said.

"I want to know where it went."

"Mama has expenses —"

"I pay her expenses.

I have every receipt, every transfer, every direct deposit for six years.

That money was not for her expenses." I opened the envelope and set the printed statements on the table.

"And Cora recorded herself saying so.

On video.

With the date.

In this house."

Rafael looked at the statements.

Then he looked at Bianca.

Something passed between them — quick, involuntary, the look of people calculating whether they were still ahead.

"You want to talk about Cora?" Rafael said.

He had found the patient smile again, the one from this morning, and that more than anything else told me he had a play left.

"Cora was dismissed because she was making false accusations about this family.

She was confused.

The clinic assessed her."

"The clinic your doctor recommended.

From the same Hill Country practice that prescribed pills in Mama's name that Mama never knew she was taking."

"Mama has episodes —"

"Mama just told me she asked to call me before she signed those papers and you told her I was too busy." My voice stayed level.

I had been in negotiations on three continents and I had learned that the person who raises their voice first has already started losing.

"You used her trust in you.

You used her love for you.

And when Cora tried to stop you, you had her removed from this house under a false safety filing."

The room went silent.

Bianca reached for her wine.

Her hand wasn't steady.

Rafael set his jaw.

"You can't prove any of that."

"I have two videos, nineteen months of bank records, a title search showing two fraudulent transfer attempts, and a notary visit that Cora witnessed and documented." I picked up my phone from the table.

"And I have a meeting at eight tomorrow morning with the district attorney's office in Harris County."

That was not entirely true yet.

But I intended to make it true before morning.

"That's a significant accusation," Rafael said.

"It's a documented one."

He came around the coffee table then, and his voice dropped, the way it had when we were children and he wanted something from me that he couldn't simply take.

"Andrea.

We're family.

Whatever you think happened, whatever Cora told you — this doesn't need to go to the county.

We can sit down, sort out the accounts, make this right quietly.

Nobody needs to be embarrassed."

I looked at him for a long moment.

The brother who used to carry my school bag up five flights when the elevator broke.

The brother who called me every Sunday, warm and easy, while Mama wore a uniform in my own house.

"Take what you need for tonight," I said.

"Both of you.

I want you out of this house before Mama wakes up."

Bianca stood.

"You can't just —"

"This is my house.

My name.

My trust.

My deed." I held the front door open.

"And if either of you makes any contact with the Hill Country clinic, the notary, the title company, or Mama's bank before my attorney gets there tomorrow, I will add obstruction to the list."

Rafael picked up his keys from the counter.

He stopped at the door.

"You always thought you were the only one who sacrificed for this family," he said.

"No," I said.

"I was just the only one who actually did."

He left without another word.

Bianca followed, the bracelet catching the hall light one last time as she passed.

I closed the door.

Turned the deadbolt.

Stood in the quiet foyer with my back against the wood.

My phone lit up.

Mika again.