Julian took a step toward me, his expression shifting from suspicion to deep curiosity.

“Elias Cross was my grandfather’s chief associate,” Julian said. “He retired decades ago. He was supposed to have moved away.”

“He never left Chicago, Julian,” I said, looking him in the eye. “He stayed right here, watching.”

“This is absurd,” Miranda interrupted, her voice rising to a screech. “This girl is a fraud. She is trying to extort us.”

She grabbed her phone from her clutch purse, her fingers tapping wildly on the screen.

“I am calling security,” Miranda said. “I want you out of this house, out of this city, and in a cell by midnight.”

“You can call them,” I said, remaining perfectly still. “But they will have to explain to the press why they are removing the owner of the house.”

Julian looked at me, then at his mother, who had stopped typing.

Her phone screen glowed in the dim light, casting a blue hue over her stunned face.

“What are you talking about, Valerie?” Julian asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.