“If that transfer goes through, the deeds won’t matter,” Matteo said, his voice shaking.

“He will control every cent of your mother’s money.”

“We have less than two hours,” I said.

“We have to stop him,” Matteo said.

Suddenly, a floorboard creaked in the hallway outside the dressing room.

A shadow stretched across the gap beneath the double doors.

We both went rigid.

The brass doorknob began to turn, slowly and deliberately.

I held my breath, my fingers tightening around the edge of the forged document.

Matteo stepped back, his heel making no sound on the thick Persian rug.

The brass knob clicked as it turned to its limit.

The heavy oak door nudged inward, letting in a sliver of yellow light from the hallway.

I braced myself to see Harrison’s arrogant smile, or perhaps the cold, demanding eyes of his mother, Beatrice.

Instead, a slender hand gripped the edge of the door frame.

Sloane Whitaker slipped into the room, quickly pulling the door shut behind her.

She pressed her back against the wood, breathing in short, shallow gasps.