“No. Those funds were placed into Kellerman by a private vehicle of mine. He does not know whose money he took.”
I felt something go cold under my breastbone.
Then my father looked out the window and said, “There is a worse thing and I would rather you hear it from me tonight.”
“What.”
“While you were on trial, your townhouse on Ferrers Street was sold under a power of attorney bearing your signature.”
I thought of Cass. His room. The height marks on the door frame.
“Who bought it?”
And for the first time that day, my father looked at me with something close to pity.
“Your mother.”
