By the time she finished explaining, her mother’s face had turned pale.

“He used your name?”

“Apparently.”

“And moved thirty-eight thousand dollars?”

“Apparently.”

Her father stared toward the road.

“Do you want me to drive back to Sacramento with you?”

“No.”

“Rachel—”

“I need the kids to stay here for now.”

Her parents exchanged a glance.

Rachel recognized it immediately.

Concern mixed with anger.

“Don’t call Brandon,” she said.

Her father frowned.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Dad.”

He sighed.

“Fine.”

Rachel went upstairs to the small bedroom where she had slept as a teenager.

The floral curtains had changed, but the dresser remained the same. So did the brass lamp beside the bed.

She opened her laptop.

For the next ninety minutes, she worked.

First, she froze her credit.

Then she contacted the mortgage company. Then the bank. Then the brokerage account. Then the children’s education fund.

That was where