Grace leaned over my shoulder, her eyes scanning the neat, elegant script of my mother’s handwriting.

“This is it,” Grace said quietly.

“It explicitly states that the Ashford Foundation has no claim to the estate if Harrison commits any act of financial infidelity.”

“It also nullifies the power of attorney they forced you to sign during your recovery.”

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway outside.

The door to the study burst open.

Harrison stood in the doorway, his tie loosened and his face flushed red.

His eyes darted from me to the parchment in my hands.

“What are you doing in here?” he demanded.

“This room is off-limits.”

“Not to me, Harrison,” I said, standing up and holding the document.

“This is my mother’s house.”

“It always has been.”

Beatrice appeared behind him, her face pale but her posture rigid.

She wore her pearl necklace like armor, her chin held high.

“Vivian, stop this foolishness at once,” Beatrice said.

“You are making a public spectacle of this family.”

“Your family is built on a lie, Beatrice,” I said.

“And the spectacle is just beginning.”