The rain came off the James River in grey sheets, rattling the tall, drafty windows of the Mercer House library.

Marcus stood by the fireplace, his damp wool coat smelling of wet dog and expensive tobacco.

He held a leather folder under his arm like a trophy.

“It is done,” Marcus said, looking around the room as if he already owned the air we breathed.

“The buyers from Richmond signed the preliminary agreement this morning.”

Aunt Caroline sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, her fingers knotting a damp tissue.

“The whole north ridge, Marcus?” she whispered, her eyes darting to the portrait of our grandfather. “Including the graves?”

“They are relocating the remains, Aunt Caroline,” Marcus said, his voice flat and impatient.

“The county will approve the rezoning by Friday, and the first deposit clears on Monday.”

I felt the heavy brass key to the cemetery gate pressing against my thigh through my pocket.

My grandfather had given me that key on his deathbed, along with the leather-bound ledger he kept hidden under the floorboards.

“The cemetery is not yours to sell, Marcus,” I said.

Marcus laughed, a short, sharp sound that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I have the power of attorney, cousin,” he said, tapping the leather folder.

“And Warren has already cleared the title.”

Warren Bellamy sat in the leather armchair by the window, refusing to meet my eye.

He adjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles, his hand trembling slightly as he polished the glass with his silk handkerchief.

“The paperwork is in order,” Warren muttered, his voice barely rising above the sound of the rain.

“I checked the registry myself.”

I walked over to the double doors of the library and opened them.

Lydia Crane stepped into the room, her trench coat dark with rain.

She carried a large, flat cardboard tube and a black laptop case.

Marcus stiffened, his hand dropping from the mantelpiece.

“Who is this?” Marcus asked, his tone sharpening. “This is a private family matter.”

“I am Lydia Crane, assistant county counsel,” she said, setting her cases on the mahogany table.

“And this is no longer private.”