“The code first,” Grace murmured.

“Then the signature.”

Sloane looked at me, a desperate, pleading look that made me realize how much Harrison had broken her, too.

She was terrified of the prison sentence that came with the theft of the Celestia gown.

“It’s his mother’s maiden name and the date they signed the first joint lease on the London offices,” Sloane said.

“Vane-one-nine-eight-seven.”

“V-A-N-E-1-9-8-7.”

Grace wrote the characters down on a separate yellow legal pad.

“And the administrative username?” Grace asked.

“Ashford-Admin-Zero-One,” Sloane said.

“But that only gets you past the outer gate and the terminal screen.”

“To open the physical vault door, you need the physical keycard he keeps in his study desk.”

“Or the manual override wheel inside the security closet next to the generator.”

I knew that closet.

My mother had shown it to me when I was a child, back when the estate still belonged to the Bennetts.

“The security closet is always locked,” I said.

“Not tonight,” Sloane said.

“He left it open for the technicians who were working on the backup generators this afternoon.”