Jake rose from the recliner, folder in one hand, beer in the other.
“Careful,” he warned.
My phone buzzed again.
He glanced at it. “Work emergency?”
I let it ring once. Twice.
Then I answered.
A man on the other end was breathing hard.
“Is this Sarah Morrison?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“This is James Wheeler. We represented the Parkers in the purchase of your property.” His voice cracked. “Why are FBI agents at our office?”
The entire room went silent.
Jake stopped moving.
Dad’s face emptied.
Mom lowered herself slowly back into her chair.
And for the first time all night, my brother’s smile disappeared.