On the screen was a live local news feed.

The headline banner across the bottom read: *Federal Authorities Arrive at Darrow House.*

My phone buzzed on the table.

I picked up the vibrating device, my fingers cold against the glass screen.

The screen showed an incoming call from the estate manager at Darrow House.

I slid my thumb across the glass and put the phone to my ear.

“Nora,” Arthur’s voice came through, thin and strained over the static. “There are federal agents at the main gate with a warrant.”

I looked across the table at Grant.

He was staring at the tablet screen, his mouth slightly open, his chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths.

“Let them in, Arthur,” I said quietly. “Give them whatever they ask for.”

I hung up and placed the phone back on the polished mahogany table.

The silence in the conference room was heavy, broken only by the hum of the air conditioning.

“What is the meaning of this?” Margaret Mercer demanded from the far end of the table.

Her voice had lost its usual icy composure, rising to a sharp, defensive pitch.