His jacket was soaked, and he was breathing heavily as if he had run from the lobby.

“Delivery for Eleanor Price,” he said, his voice echoing in the tense silence.

Eleanor stepped forward, her hand trembling as she held out the silver key.

My father lunged toward the courier.

Gabriel moved before my father could take a second step.

His hand gripped my father’s shoulder, shoving him back with a firm, silent strength.

“Don’t,” Gabriel said, his voice quiet and deadly.

The courier shrank back against the brass wall of the elevator.

Eleanor did not flinch.

She slotted the small silver key into the padlock of the leather satchel.

The lock clicked open with a sharp, metallic snap.

My father struggled against Gabriel’s grip, his face purple with rage.

“You have no right to those files,” my father snarled. “They belong to the Bennett estate.”

“They belong to Margaret’s trust,” Eleanor said, pulling a thick, leather-bound volume from the bag.

She held it tightly against her chest.

“And I am the sole trustee,” she added.

The ledger was old, its dark blue cover scuffed at the corners.