But his eyes were the same striking, observant blue as Julian’s.

“Thank you,” Thomas said, his voice raspy from the cold.

He closed the door behind him, shutting out the Chicago wind.

His gaze passed over Julian, then stopped on my grandfather.

“Elias,” Thomas said.

“Thomas,” my grandfather replied, his voice steady. “I thought you were dead.”

“Many people did,” Thomas said, with a faint, tired smile. “It was safer that way.”

“Why are you here?” Julian asked, stepping down to the foyer floor.

Thomas looked at his nephew.

“I heard about what you did, Julian,” Thomas said. “I heard you found the real documents.”

“I came to make sure Miranda doesn’t find a way out of this.”

He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a small, faded leather ledger.

“This belongs to your grandfather, Valerie,” Thomas said, holding it out to me.

I stepped down the final stair and took the book from his hand.

The leather was worn and cold to the touch.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Arthur’s private record of the 1984 land acquisitions,” Thomas said.