“Ms. Vance, Mr. Mercer’s attorney is on line two. They want to discuss a settlement before tomorrow.”

Lena looked at me, her hand hovering over the receiver.

“What do you want to do, Nora?” she asked.

“Tell them we will see them in the deposition room,” I said. “No settlements.”

She smiled faintly and pressed the button.

“We decline,” she told the assistant. “Let them know we are proceeding as scheduled.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon organizing the binders.

Every wire transfer was cross-referenced with Grant’s personal travel calendar.

Every time a transfer went through to the Bahamas, Grant had been at a resort in Nassau or Miami.

The pattern was undeniable, a trail of greed left in plain sight because he believed he was untouchable.

I walked to the window, watching the rain begin to streak the glass.

The streetlights below were turning on, glowing orange in the twilight.

I thought of Darrow House, now quiet and half-packed.

Margaret would be sitting in her drawing room, surrounded by cardboard boxes, watching her thirty-day clock tick down.

The phone in my coat pocket vibrated.