My stepmother called me at the end of the day, her voice so smug I could practically hear the smile on her lips, and told me that from now on I would never be allowed to set foot in the family beach house again because she had already changed every lock.

The locksmith cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “For what it is worth, I was told by the woman on the porch that her husband owned the property outright,” Miller said.

“I would not have changed these locks if I had known that the ownership was disputed,” he added while looking at his clipboard. Victoria whirled on him with her eyes flashing.

“You do not need to say another word to these people,” she hissed. “I am just saying what happened,” Miller replied as he lifted both hands in a defensive gesture.

Cassandra, whom I had not noticed at first, pushed open the side gate and emerged from around the back of the house. She was wearing oversized sunglasses and a matching cream tracksuit, looking like she had dressed for a resort brunch instead of a family ambush.

She froze when she saw Lydia and the officers holding the legal papers. “Mom, what is going on out here?” Cassandra asked with a tight voice.

Victoria ignored her daughter and kept her eyes fixed on the police. “Ma’am, if these documents are valid, then having the locks changed without the owner’s authorization could create a major problem,” the younger officer said.