He was too busy to look at my mud-stained knees.

I ducked into the service alcove near the library to avoid the main hallway.

My phone vibrated in my palm.

It was a text from Grace.

*I have the digital copies of the Bennett Trust transfers,* it read. *Harrison’s signature is on the shell company accounts.*

*Dr. Marren signed the declaration of incompetence yesterday morning. We have the metadata showing the forgery.*

I typed back quickly, my hands still shaking.

*Where are you?*

*Near the west gallery entrance,* she replied instantly. *The media booth is just above the stage.*

I slipped through the side door of the library and into the carpeted hallway of the west gallery.

The walls were lined with the portraits of my ancestors, their eyes seeming to watch me from the shadows.

I saw Grace standing near a tall marble pillar, watching the ballroom entrance.

She wore a dark, understated evening dress, her expression tight and alert.

When she saw me approach, her eyes widened at the sight of my dirt-streaked clothes.

“Vivian,” she whispered, grabbing my arm and pulling me behind the pillar. “What happened to you?”