“Shut up, Philip,” Grant snapped.

He looked at the mover, who was already putting his tools away.

“Get out,” Grant told him. “Leave the crates.”

The mover did not hesitate, walking quickly past us toward the exit.

Philip followed him, leaving his clipboard on the table.

The heavy doors of the gallery remained open, letting in the drafts from the cold hallway.

“You think you’ve won,” Grant said, walking slowly toward me until he was only inches away.

I could see the fine lines of strain around his mouth and the sweat on his forehead.

“My mother will not let you take this house,” he said.

“She has already spoken to her attorneys.”

“Margaret has no cards left to play,” I said.

“She thinks she does,” Grant said with a cold, desperate smile.

“She is preparing an offer you won’t refuse, Nora.”

“She is going to offer you Darrow House.”

I looked at Lena, who kept her face completely expressionless.

“She wants to trade the estate for the embezzlement charges,” Grant said.

“She thinks your sentimentality for this place is your ultimate weakness.”