As if on cue, two marked police cruisers pulled up behind Victoria’s sedan, their lights flashing silently in the midday sun. Two officers stepped out and walked deliberately up the driveway toward Ryan.

Ryan looked around wildly—at his clothes scattered across the lawn, at his mother who was practically hyperventilating against the hood of her car, and at the officers approaching him with handcuffs ready. The illusion of his control vanished in an instant, replaced by the stark, undeniable truth of his own downfall.

He didn’t get to eat lunch in my house. He didn’t get the lower suite for his mother. And as the officers cuffed his hands behind his back and led him down the driveway through the mess of his own belongings, he finally understood that the power had never been his to take.