The heavy brass handle clicked, and the door swung inward.

Graham stood in the doorway, his wool coat damp from the coastal mist.

His eyes darted from me to his mother, then down to Julian’s briefcase.

“I thought I heard voices down here,” Graham said, his voice tight.

He stepped into the room, bringing the cold smell of salt air and wet wool with him.

“This is a private discussion, Graham,” Marjorie said, her voice instantly freezing over.

“It doesn’t look private,” Graham said. He looked at me, his gaze lingering on my hand.

I instinctively pulled my hand back, but the gold band of my grandmother’s ring glinted under the lamp.

“You have no business here, Graham,” Julian said, stepping forward to block his path.

“This is still my family’s house,” Graham replied, though he didn’t look at Julian. He kept his eyes on his mother.

“Leave us,” Marjorie said.

Her tone was absolute, the same voice she used when she dismissed the estate staff.

Graham’s jaw tightened, a small muscle twitching near his temple.

He looked at the fireplace, then at the desk where Marjorie’s leather portfolio lay open.