The flashes of their cameras began to light up the foyer like lightning.

“I will have to make a statement,” Julian said.

“A full statement.”

He turned his head to look at me.

“To the press, and to the board.”

“About the restructuring?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “And about who actually owns the Sterling Group.”

He reached out and touched my arm.

“But first, we finish this.”

We reached the bottom of the stairs.

The guests parted before us like water, pulling back toward the walls.

Some of them looked away, embarrassed to watch Miranda’s fall.

Others stared with open curiosity, their eyes darting from Miranda to me.

I was still wearing my black housekeeping uniform.

The simple white apron felt heavy against my waist.

“Valerie?” a woman whispered from the crowd.

It was Mrs. Gable, one of Miranda’s closest friends.

She looked at me, then at the agents, her mouth hanging open.

“She is Valerie Cross,” Elias said from behind us, his voice carrying over the silence.

“The granddaughter of Arthur Sterling’s partner.”

A collective gasp ran through the room.