I heard typing.

Then silence.

Not normal silence.

Professional silence.

The kind people use when they have found something they don’t want to explain too quickly.

“Mrs. Grant?”

“Yes?”

“Are you currently attempting to make a purchase for twelve thousand eight hundred dollars?”

My hand tightened around the phone.

“No.”

Behind me, Dean stepped onto the porch.

“What?”

I held up one finger.

Melissa continued.

“The transaction was attempted approximately six minutes ago.”

“Where?”

Another pause.

“Bellamy Jewelers.”

Priscilla appeared behind Dean.

She froze.

Dean saw it.

So did I.

“What did you buy?” he asked her.

“Nothing.”

“Priscilla.”

“Nothing!”

Melissa was still talking.

“The transaction was declined because it triggered a fraud alert.”

I swallowed.

“Cancel the card.”

“I can do that. But, Mrs. Grant, I’m seeing activity here that concerns me.”

“How much?”

“Would you prefer to discuss this somewhere private?”

That sentence told me everything.

“No,” I said.

“Tell me now.”

She began reading.

A $2,480 furniture purchase in October.

A $1,760 electronics charge.

Three payments to a luxury clothing retailer totaling more than $4,000.

A hotel charge.

Restaurant bills.

Spa treatments.

An online jewelry store.

A payment processor I didn’t recognize.

Then Melissa mentioned something called Harbor Ridge Holdings.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I can’t determine the merchant’s business from here.”

“How much?”

“Four payments.”

My mouth went dry.

“Total?”

“Twenty-seven thousand six hundred dollars.”

Dean grabbed the porch railing.

Priscilla turned and walked inside.

Not ran.

Walked.

Very slowly.

That frightened me more.

“Mom,” Dean whispered, “I swear I didn’t know.”

I believed him.

Not because he was my son.

Because I knew Dean’s face when he lied.

At seven, he broke a neighbor’s window and insisted a bird had done it.

At sixteen, he backed my car into a mailbox.

At twenty-three, he told me he wasn’t nervous before marrying Priscilla while shaking so badly he dropped his cuff link.

Dean was many things.

A coward sometimes.

Too eager to keep peace.

Too willing to let his wife make decisions.

But that expression wasn’t guilt.

It was devastation.

Melissa recommended freezing the entire account.

I agreed.

Then she said something I hadn’t expected.

“Mrs. Grant, there may be another issue.”

My stomach dropped.

“What issue?”

“We received a credit inquiry last month associated with your information.”

“I didn’t apply for credit.”

“That’s why I’m concerned.”

Dean whispered, “Oh God.”

I turned toward the window.

Through the glass, I could see Priscilla standing in my kitchen.

She wasn’t watching us.

She was using her phone.

Typing frantically.

“Melissa,” I said, “freeze everything you can.”

She transferred me to the fraud department.

I spent forty minutes on that porch.

By the time I finished, my fingers were numb.

My heart felt worse.