“It’s not fake,” Sloane said. “I swear.”

Before she could touch the pen, a sharp vibration rattled the desk.

It was my phone, lying on the blotter.

The screen lit up with an incoming call from Harrison.

The phone buzzed against the polished mahogany, sliding an inch to the left with each vibration.

Harrison’s name flashed in bright green across the screen, casting a sickly light over the documents.

My finger hovered over the glass.

I pressed the side button, silencing the ringer, but the screen continued to glow with the silent alert.

“He’s looking for me,” Sloane whispered, her eyes wide as she stared at the dark screen.

“He knows I left the guest house.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

“Not yet.”

Grace tapped the gold nib of her fountain pen against the blotter.

“If you want this protection, Sloane, you speak now,” Grace said.

“The transfer of the Bennett Trust is scheduled to clear at midnight.”

“That gives us less than two hours before the offshore accounts lock the funds.”