“I’ll find her,” I said.

“Meet me at the east wing staircase in one hour.”

“Be careful, Emma,” Marcus said.

“Grant is cornered, and a cornered man will burn the whole house down to escape.”

I hung up the phone and walked up the creaking wooden stairs.

The scent of old paper and lemon polish filled my nose.

The corridor leading to the executive suite was quiet, the heavy carpet muffling my footsteps.

I pushed open the door to Grant’s office without knocking.

He was standing by the window, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

His tie was loosened, and his jacket hung over the back of his leather chair.

He looked up, his face hardening when he saw me.

“You should be at home, Emma,” he said, taking a slow sip.

“I know what you’re doing, Grant,” I said, closing the door behind me.

“I am saving what is left of this family,” he said, gesturing to the papers scattered across his desk.

“You are trying to destroy the evidence of your own theft,” I said.

He laughed, a dry, humorless sound that rattled in his throat.