“Who’s there?” Harrison called out, his voice sharp with fear.

I didn’t move.

I stood frozen in the dark hallway, the blue light of my phone illuminating my face as the call continued to ring.

My thumb scrambled for the volume button, pressing it until the ringing died into a silent vibration.

The shadow of Harrison’s head turned toward my corner of the hallway.

He took two slow steps toward me, his leather shoes squeaking softly on the polished wood.

“Claire?” he whispered.

I stepped out of the shadows and into the dim glow of the hallway light.

“Get out of my house,” I said.

Harrison stopped, his face pale and his chest rising and falling rapidly under his tailored jacket.

Behind him, Patricia stood in the doorway of the study.

She immediately clutched the loose ledger pages tighter against her silk blouse, her knuckles turning white.

“Claire, darling,” Patricia said, her voice dropping into that familiar, patronizing purr. “There is no need for drama.”

“You broke into my home,” I said, looking from her to the black folder Harrison held.