She was thr0wn out by his family—only for them to realize too late that the house was hers all along.

was the message that made me sit up.

The silence.

A minute later, the fifty-fifth call came in.

It was not my father.

It was Martin’s mother.

I almost let it ring.

Then I thought about the email, the attachments, the way Camille had cried like a victim while sitting in the middle of a mess she had helped create.

I answered.

“Are you somewhere safe?” Martin’s continue reading …