She tapped the digital tablet on her desk, and a high-resolution image appeared on the screen facing Margaret.

It showed a side-by-side comparison of Margaret’s actual signature and the signature on the trust amendment.

The lines of the forged signature were shaky, indicating it had been traced.

“Adrian used his access to your private study in Newport,” Grace said.

“He found an old document you had signed and used a light box to trace it onto the amendment.”

“Why?” I asked, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.

“Because the bank wouldn’t release the funds for his merger unless the trust was clear of any potential future claims,” Grace explained to me, though she kept her eyes on Margaret.

“If there was a child—an heir—the trust assets were locked in a protective clause that required co-trustee approval.”

“And he didn’t have that approval,” I said.

“He didn’t,” Grace said. “Because he hadn’t told anyone about you, Vivian. Or about Lily.”

“He was trying to erase her before she was even born,” I said, a cold sickness settling in my stomach.