“How much is gone?” I asked.

Marcus looked at his computer screen, his glasses reflecting the blue light.

“All of it. Forty-two thousand dollars. Transferred to an offshore entity ten minutes ago.”

Arthur Bennett cleared his throat, drawing our attention back to him.

He reached into the deep pocket of his heavy wool coat.

“They are running out of time, and they know it,” Arthur said.

He pulled out a thick manila envelope.

The paper was worn at the edges, tied with a faded red string that had begun to fray.

“This is why I came,” Arthur said.

He placed the envelope carefully on Marcus’s desk, right over the printouts of the flagged transactions.

“What is this?” Marcus asked, leaning forward.

“The certified original will of your grandfather, Sadie,” Arthur said, looking at me.

“I thought the courthouse fires in ninety-eight destroyed the original registry,” Marcus said.

“They did,” Arthur replied. “But your grandfather gave me a certified duplicate copy, signed by the judge and sealed by the state, for safekeeping.”

Marcus untied the red string with slow, careful fingers.

He pulled out the heavy parchment papers.