She looked at me, her eyes narrowing as she took in the open laptop and the documents scattered on the kitchen table.

“Emma,” she said, her voice smooth and devoid of surprise. “I thought I might find you here.”

“This is my father’s cottage, Helen,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “You have no right to be here.”

She closed the umbrella and set it in the brass stand by the door with a sharp metallic clink.

“Your father is gone, my dear,” she said, stepping into the warm light of the kitchen. “And everything he built is now tied to my family.”

“You mean everything you’re stealing from him,” I replied, placing my hand flat on the closed laptop.

Helen took off her leather gloves, peeling them from her fingers one slowly at a time.

She placed them on the counter next to the sink.

“You always were too sensitive for the business world, Emma,” she said. “Your father understood the realities of capital.”

“My father didn’t hide millions in Swiss and Caribbean accounts,” I said.

I opened the laptop again and turned the screen toward her.