“We can take this to the police,” I said.

“We can dismantle their entire case by tomorrow morning,” Julian agreed, closing the ledger.

Suddenly, the light in the hallway flickered beneath the crack of the door.

A soft, distinct scent of Chanel No. 5 drifted into the room.

I froze, my hand still resting on the leather cover.

“You always were too curious for your own good, Evelyn,” a voice said from the doorway.

The flashlight beam bounced off the wall as Julian turned it toward the entrance.

Marjorie stood there, her wool coat draped elegantly over her shoulders.

She looked pale, but her eyes were cold and sharp.

She did not look surprised to see us.

“Turn that light down, Julian,” she said, her voice smooth and controlled. “You are getting dust on your suit.”

Julian lowered the flashlight, illuminating only her expensive leather shoes and the hem of her trousers.

“Marjorie,” I said, my voice shaking despite my anger. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“This is still my family’s estate, dear,” she said, stepping into the room.