Alice stepped forward. “You stole years from my children.”
That landed like a slap.
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Tom looked at her. “No. You handed them over when you stayed gone.”
That landed like a slap.
Then, from somewhere above us, we heard tires on wet gravel.
Tom heard it too. His eyes sharpened.
Alice said, “Rachel called them.”
His face changed.
The metal lockbox split into view beside him.
Daniel yelled, “Now!”
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I grabbed Tom’s wrist. The gun fired into the ceiling. Dirt and wood came down. Daniel kicked his leg. Alice slammed the shovel into his shoulder. He stumbled backward, and the rotten boards under him gave way.
He crashed into the lower pit.
The metal lockbox split into view beside him.
By the time the state police came down the steps, Tom was trapped under broken timber, still cursing, and Daniel was holding up his phone with shaking hands.
