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My father had me on payroll, but technically, I didsomework for the company. I attended dinners when he asked and talked to people at events, convincing them to become clients and hand over their finances to his company.

On our drive here, I googled my father’s name. Breaking news article after article popped up. The police raided our family home and found his body. The stories continued with the crimes they accused him of committing. I made Julian pull over and puked up what little was in my stomach.

I finally cried.

The shock wore off as reality set in.

The life as I had known it was gone.

We take the elevator to my floor, which opens directly into my kitchen. It’s messy, not the way I left it, making it obvious that someone—orsomeones—was rummaging through my things.

A tall man, at least six-seven, wearing a black coat with an FBI badge, stands in my living room. A black cap is on his head,chestnut-brown hair sticking out from the sides. He pretty much solidifies that my father was in deep trouble.

“Julian,” he says, jerking his chin toward him before offering me the same gesture.

I hold my hand up in a slight wave.

“Get your things,” Julian tells me as the man walks in our direction.

Julian slips him money when he reaches us, and they move away from me, toward a corner.

I kick off my shoes out of habit and head toward my bedroom, moving slowly in an attempt to hear their conversation.

“They want to speak with her,” the guy tells Julian. “Does she have an attorney?”

“No,” Julian replies so easily, as if he didn’t just kill mine—aka Henry—in cold blood. “But I’ll get Warren to represent her.” He turns, as if he knew I was listening, and motions toward the man. “Don’t say a word to this guy. Get your shit and let’s go.”

The man laughs, jerking his head toward me the same way he did moments ago. “I’m Derrick.”

“He’s irrelevant.” Julian glares at Derrick. “Don’t talk to him without me.”

Derrick chuckles. “I’m not irrelevant. I’m one of the men in charge of your father’s case.”

Does he even have a case?

I mean, it’s not like they can charge and jail his corpse.

Or will that fall on me as well, like the whole Russian-bride situation?

“You’re irrelevant to her because she had nothing to do with his crimes,” he tells Derrick sternly before whipping his attention back to me. “Now, go get your shit.”

I scurry away from them, run into my closet, and grab the largest suitcase I own. I throw some belongings inside—jewelry,handbags, shoes, and photo albums. I dump my bra and panties drawer into a tote bag—becauseew,I don’t want theFedsgoing through those.

“One minute,” Julian yells.

I leave some of my expensive handbags. If what Julian said is true about my father stealing his clients’ money, they’ll sell them to pay the innocent families my father stole from. They’ll need that money more than I will. I’ll only take the items that mean the most to me.

I leave my bedroom with a bag draped over my shoulder and a Celine tote hanging off my elbow and wheel my suitcase behind me.

“In situations like this, do people not getanyof their belongings?” I ask, my focus on Derrick since he seems to be the one in charge of seizing my shit.

He adjusts his hat, staring at me. “I’d guess they’ll give you five, maybe six months before freezing the remainder of your assets and liquidating your belongings to pay your father’s victims. You can keep some, what you have there, and you should be fine.” He gives me a sincere look. “Sorry, and I’ll also apologize in advance for when we have to interview you.”

“You pull thegood cop, bad copshit on her, I’m killing you,” Julian warns him.

Derrick laughs, as if Julian’s threats are nothing new.

“Can I stay here tonight?” I ask as the realization that I’ll be homeless soon dawns on me. “Until they kick me out, the place is mine, right?”