The lobby smelled of floor wax, wet wool, and stale coffee.

We took the elevator to the fourth floor and entered the quiet offices of Carter & Associates.

Jerome Carter was standing by the window of his private conference room, holding a thick manila folder.

He was a tall man with sharp gray eyes and a tailored charcoal suit that made him look like a soldier.

“Sit down, Avery,” Jerome said, gesturing to the heavy leather chairs across from his desk.

I sat, my damp coat sticking to the leather.

Rachel sat beside me, already pulling a notepad and a pen from her purse.

Jerome laid the folder flat on the mahogany table and tapped his finger against the paper.

“I’ve spent the last two hours analyzing your grandmother-in-law’s will,” Jerome said.

“And?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“The $7.3 million inheritance is real,” Jerome said.

My chest tightened, a familiar knot of anger forming in my stomach.

“But there is a catch,” Jerome continued, leaning forward.

“A very specific morality clause.”

“What does it say?” Rachel asked, her pen hovering over the paper.