Fifteen minutes before leaving for the airport, my 6-year-old daughter clung to my neck and whispered: “When you travel, mom puts something in my juice and then films me.”

Marcus was responsible for managing those assets carefully until his daughter reached legal age.

The oceanfront property was worth more than six million dollars.

“What do they say about the house, Lily?” Marcus asked, keeping his voice as light as he could.

“Julian said they were missing two good videos,” Lily whispered.

“Good?”

“Good for them,” Lily said, frowning as she worked through the distinction in the painful logic of a six-year-old.

“Bad for me.”

And Marcus felt the pieces begin falling into place.

The drops that made Lily behave differently.

The recordings of that behavior.

The stepmother telling her she might someday have to live somewhere else.

The unknown man discussing a six-million-dollar house owned by his daughter.

And now the missing videos—good for Sarah and Julian, bad for Lily.

Marcus did not yet know exactly how the scheme was supposed to work.

But he understood its general shape.