Grace stepped out from the shadow of the library doors.

She was holding a dark leather briefcase, her fingers resting on the brass latches.

She did not look panicked; her face was completely composed.

“I suggest you remove your hands immediately,” Grace said, her voice cutting through the tension.

Beatrice frowned, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Who let this woman in?” Beatrice demanded, looking at the butler who stood near the doorway.

“I am Vivian’s legal counsel,” Grace said, stepping into the center of the room.

She opened her briefcase with two sharp clicks.

Harrison let out a short, dry laugh.

“Her counsel? Vivian is not in a position to hire anyone, Grace.”

“The proxy is active,” Harrison added, stepping in front of his mother.

Grace pulled a thick stack of papers from her briefcase, the crisp white sheets catching the light of the chandelier.

“The proxy you are referring to was drafted under fraudulent conditions,” Grace said.

She did not raise her voice, but every word was perfectly clear.

“And I have something here that makes your admission order completely useless.”