On her screen was security footage.
The figure crouched down, fiddled with the safe for maybe 30 seconds, and the door swung open. Then, the person reached inside and pulled out a stack of bills.
My stomach dropped so fast I felt lightheaded. Marisa swiped to another clip. Same hoodie. Same build.
“I didn’t want to believe it,” she said, her voice soft but pointed. “But your daughter’s been acting weird lately. And now this.”
Then, the person reached inside and pulled out a stack of bills.
I couldn’t speak. My brain was scrambling, trying to find an explanation that made sense.
“Avery wouldn’t do this,” I whispered.
Marisa’s expression tightened. “You say that because you’re blind where she’s concerned.”
That sentence landed wrong. I stood up so fast my chair scraped against the floor. “I need to talk to her.”
Marisa grabbed my wrist. “Don’t. Not yet. If you confront her now, she’ll just deny it or run. You need to be smart about this.”
“Avery wouldn’t do this.”
“This is my daughter.”
“And I’m trying to protect you,” Marisa said sharply. “She’s 16. You can’t keep pretending she’s perfect.”
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