“Those surveys don’t change the ledger,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“They contradict the boundaries,” Marcus said. “Without those original maps, your ledger is just an unverified diary.”

He turned on his heel and walked toward the back door that led to the gardens.

“Marcus, stop!” I called out, running down the stairs.

But he was already out the door, letting the heavy wood slam shut behind him.

I reached the bottom of the stairs just as the telephone in the hallway began to ring.

I ignored it and ran to the window that faced the northern ridge.

Outside, the rain was coming down in sheets, blurring the outline of the old gatehouse in the distance.

I saw a figure moving quickly across the lawn toward the small stone building.

It was Marcus, carrying a heavy metal flashlight.

I grabbed my raincoat from the hook by the door.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out as I reached for the doorknob.

It was a text message from Blake, the groundskeeper who lived in the cottage near the north gate.