Margaret was sitting at her mahogany desk at the far end of the library.

A single green-shaded lamp illuminated the paperwork spread before her.

She did not look up when we entered.

“You should not have come here, Vivian,” Margaret said, her voice dry and precise.

“Your son is about to ruin you,” Grace said, stepping forward.

Margaret finally raised her eyes, her gaze fixing on Grace.

“Adrian is a fool, but he is my son,” Margaret said. “He does not have the capacity to ruin me.”

“He has the capacity to steal from the family holdings,” Grace countered.

She dropped a thick blue folder onto the edge of Margaret’s desk.

“Those are the authorization logs from the trust’s primary account in Zurich,” Grace said. “They were accessed an hour ago.”

Margaret’s hand remained still on her desk, but her knuckles turned slightly white.

“That is impossible,” Margaret said. “Those accounts require two signatures.”

“They require your signature and the chief financial officer’s,” Grace said. “Or a certified digital proxy.”

“I have not authorized any transfers,” Margaret said.

“Then Adrian is currently committing international bank fraud,” I said.