Miranda’s hand went to her throat, her fingers pressing into her skin.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she said.

“I think you do,” Vale said. “The bank in Zurich refused the transfer because the signature did not match the original registry.”

He looked at me.

“The registry requires the signature of a Cross,” Vale said. “It always did.”

I stepped closer to the desk, placing the red-sealed envelope beside the un-amended trust.

“My grandfather told me about this room,” I said, looking at Miranda. “He told me how you locked him out of the office the day after Arthur died.”

“He was a clerk,” Miranda said, her teeth clenched. “A servant who forgot his place.”

“He was the co-founder,” Vale corrected. “And your husband’s closest friend.”

Julian walked over to the tall windows and looked out at the estate.

The Chicago wind howled against the glass, rattling the heavy frames.

“We have been living on stolen ground, Mother,” Julian said.

“We built this empire!” Miranda shouted. “We kept the name alive! What would the board say if they saw this trash?”