The sound of heavy breathing came through the line, mixed with the faint hum of windshield wipers.

“Ava,” a man’s voice said.

The voice was rough, tired, and entirely unfamiliar.

“Who is this?” I demanded.

“Your family ruined my life,” the man said.

“Julian?” I asked, remembering the name Arthur had mentioned.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

The wind rattled the loose window pane of my dorm room.

“I have what you need, Ava,” the voice said.

“What do you have?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“I have the real will,” he said. “The one your grandmother actually signed.”

I gripped the desk to steady myself.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“I’m closer than you think,” he said.

The line went dead.

I looked at Arthur.

His face had gone completely pale in the yellow light of the desk lamp.

“He has the original,” Arthur whispered.

Outside, a car door slammed in the parking lot below.

I walked to the window and looked down through the rain.

A dark sedan was parked under the streetlamp, its headlights cutting through the mist.