“The police are already on their way to the main gates.”

She turned and walked quickly down the gravel path, disappearing into the dark gardens.

I stood alone for a second, my thumb rubbing the smooth metal of the key.

Then I walked up the stone steps and entered the side door of Aster Hall.

The warmth of the hallway hit my face, smelling of old wood and beeswax.

Grace was standing near the glass doors of the conservatory, holding a thick leather briefcase.

She looked up as I entered, her eyes falling on the key in my hand.

“Did she give it to you?” Grace asked.

“Yes,” I said, showing her the silver keychain.

“It is the key to my mother’s study.”

“The original trust documents are inside the writing desk.”

Grace nodded, her expression tightening with professional focus.

“Then we have everything we need,” she said.

“The forensic accountants finished their review of the foundation’s offshore accounts.”

“Every transaction leads back to Harrison’s personal LLC.”

“And Beatrice’s signature is on the authorization forms.”

We walked down the long, carpeted corridor toward the west wing.