Ethan shrugs absently. “I didn’t ask. He said he wanted to talk to me about Dad.”

My jaw and shoulders tighten. “Why?”

“He said he served with Dad in Iraq.”

No one that our father served with in Iraq ever came by our house, or our uncle’s house, as far as I know. Dad never introduced us to any of his fellow soldiers. When his National Guard unit was deployed to Iraq, it was as if he had gone to another world, a different planet with no tangible connection to this one.

“You think he was lying?” I ask. “This Finn guy?”

“No …” Ethan is staring at the TV again, but now he’s focusing, scanning his memory. “I don’t know how to explain it. I believe him that he was a soldier, and I’m pretty sure he’s telling the truth about serving with Dad. But it’s like he’s on stage and trying hard to impress you. And at the same time you can’t ignore him. He was very … charismatic, I guess is the word. When he walked in here, it was like someone had turned on the lights and they were all shining on him.”

“What did he say about Dad?”

Ethan shakes his head. “He was talking about money that some U.S. soldiers stole in Iraq. Finn was part of it.” He gives me that same bleak look of despair. “And he says Dad was part of it too.”

“He says Dad was part of it?” I stand up quickly. Wilson lifts his head, startled, and gives a single woof that sounds like a question. I ignore Wilson and pace around the living room. “That’s bullshit,” I say. “Dad was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a thief.”

“Finn seemed pretty convinced,” Ethan says.

“Some stranger shows up at your door and spins a story about Dad being a thief and you just believe him?” I’m working myself into a nice little fury, pacing around the living room. If there were a punching bag here, I’d be whaling away at it. Instead, I just flex and straighten my fingers, trying not to form fists. “He was a banker, Ethan. Dad worked with money all the time. He wouldn’t steal it.”

“What, that’s just Uncle Gavin?”

I stop pacing and glare at him. “What the hell does that mean? Uncle Gavin isn’t Dad. Stay focused.”

“Think about it, Suze.” Ethan leans forward, elbows on his knees. “When Dad came back from Iraq, he was different. Angry, sad, both all mixed up. Something was eating at him. Maybe it was guilt.”

“Or maybe it was PTSD.”

“Yeah, but from what? Dad never told us anything about trauma or stuff on the battlefield. Maybe we just made that up to explain—”