“Where is he?” I asked, my voice hardening.

“I don’t know,” she said. “He packed a bag three hours ago and left our apartment.”

She paused, looking toward the door as if expecting someone to walk in.

“But he took something from your house. Something he said would secure our future.”

I sat up slightly, ignoring the sharp pull in my abdomen.

“What did he take?”

“A wooden box,” she said. “It was cherry wood, with a brass latch and an old-fashioned lock.”

My heart sank.

“My grandfather’s case,” I whispered.

“Yes,” Brielle said, nodding quickly. “He said it belonged to Everett Langley.”

“Did he open it?”

“He tried, but the lock is solid brass and he didn’t want to break the wood and ruin the value.”

“Why does he want it?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“He told me it contains the original deeds,” Brielle said. “He said if he can destroy the original physical files, the trust’s digital records will be easier to contest in court.”

I stared at her, the gravity of Grant’s desperation sinking in.