Travis took a swing at Thomas, but he ducked. They scuffled, and then Thomas got the upper hand, pinning his younger brother to the wall with his forearm.

“Knock it off! Goddamn it! She loves you! She loves you so much that she did something she had no intention of doing for years down the line just so she could save your stupid ass!”

Travis was breathing hard, and he held up his hands in surrender.

Thomas let him go, taking a step back, and then Travis swung, catching Thomas hard in the jaw. Thomas gripped his knee with one hand and clenched his jaw with the other, trying to harness his temper.

Travis pointed at him. “That’s for lying to Dad.”

Thomas stood upright and then held up his index finger. “That’s your one. Don’t make me beat your ass. I feel bad enough.”

Travis looked at me, sizing me up. “You’re really FBI?”

I nodded, eyeing him warily. “Don’t make me beat your ass either.”

Travis laughed once. “I’d have to let you. I don’t hit girls.”

“I hit boys,” I said, still on guard.

Thomas rubbed his cheek and raised his eyebrows. “You hit harder than you used to.”

“That wasn’t even full power, dickhead,” Travis sneered.

Thomas worked his jaw back and forth. “Abby gets points for creativity, Trav, but the records show that you purchased the tickets on your credit card well after the fire started.”

Travis simply nodded. “I’m listening.”

“I’ve also been working on a case involving a money-laundering and drug-smuggling ring in Vegas. It’s run by a man named Benny Carlisi.”

“Benny?” Travis asked, clearly confused. “Tommy, are you fuckin’ serious right now? You’re in the motherfucking FBI.”

“Focus, Travis. We don’t have much time, and this is important,” Thomas snapped. “You’re in a lot of trouble. My boss is expecting an answer today. Do you understand?”

“What kind of trouble?” Travis sat back down on the couch.

“You’re looking at the same counts of manslaughter that Adam was charged with. You’re looking at prison time.”

“How long?” Travis asked. He seemed like a scared little boy when he looked up with his big brown eyes at his brother.

“Adam has ten years,” Thomas said, trying to retain his stoic expression. “I don’t see your sentence having a different outcome. The media has been all over this. They want retribution.”

Travis looked down, and his hands touched his head. “I can’t be away from Abby that long.”

His words tugged at my heart. He didn’t care about going to prison. He just didn’t want to be separated from his wife.

“You won’t have to go to prison, Travis,” I said. “Your brother has spent a lot of time and effort making sure that won’t happen. But you have to agree to something first.”