“We expect the digital filing within ten minutes.”

The deputy sighed, looking at his watch.

“I can give you ten minutes,” he said.

“But if that stay isn’t logged by then, I’m coming through these gates.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Marissa took a step forward, her face contorting with anger.

“This is ridiculous!” she snapped at the deputy.

“They are hiding my children!”

“Ten minutes, Mrs. Vale,” the deputy said firmly.

I turned and walked back toward the house with Marco, my boots splashing through the puddles.

The warmth of the foyer felt like a shield as we stepped inside and closed the heavy oak doors.

Ryker was waiting in the hallway, his phone still in his hand.

“Did you get the time?” he asked.

“Ten minutes,” I said, shaking the rain from my shawl.

“Marissa is out there herself.”

“She’s desperate,” Ryker said.

He led me back into the study, where the blue folder still lay open on the desk.

“While you were out there, our New York contact sent the rest of the probate file,” Ryker said.