“She will be right here with me.”

“She will learn her letters, she will eat her vegetables, and she will be safe.”

“You go and build that new life for her, Claire.”

“Leave the kitchen to me.”

A lump formed in my throat, and I could only nod.

“Thank you, Margaret.”

“Don’t get soft on me now,” she said, turning back to her vegetables.

“There are still floors to be waxed before the end of the week.”

I smiled, feeling a sense of grounding that I hadn’t felt since Ben died.

The next morning, the mansion was filled with a different kind of energy.

Two large, unmarked black vans arrived at the limestone gates.

Men in dark suits began carrying cardboard boxes out of the lower level of the house.

These were the files of the old business, the records Julian was handing over to the federal investigators as part of his cooperation agreement.

I stood by the window in the grand foyer, watching them load the vans.

Emma was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, a small stuffed bear cradled in her arms.