“If you lied to us, Sloane, I will personally file the theft charges before the courthouse doors open at nine tomorrow.”

Sloane turned and hurried toward the side door without another word.

She slipped out into the wet, dark night, leaving the door slightly ajar.

A draft of cold air swept through the parlor, smelling of wet stone and decaying leaves.

Matteo step-walked forward and closed the door, locking it with a heavy brass key.

“She was telling the truth about the generator room,” Matteo said quietly.

“I saw the technicians leaving through the courtyard at four o’clock.”

“The side gate was left unlatched, and the utility door was propped open with a wooden block.”

I looked down at my hands.

They were cold, the fingers stiff from the autumn chill of the unheated parlor.

“We have to go down there,” I said.

“The Bennett Trust belongs to my family, not the Ashfords.”

“If Harrison transfers those funds tonight, he will dismantle everything my mother built.”

“The estate, the archives, the land—it will all be liquidated to cover his debts in the city.”