The door opened once more, and a tall man in a grey wool coat stepped in.

It was Marcus Vance, our attorney, his briefcase dripping with melted Iowa snow.

“I got your message, Leo,” Marcus said, shaking his umbrella outside the door before stepping fully inside.

He stopped when he saw the officers.

“Detectives,” Marcus said, nodding to them. “I assume you’ve made progress.”

“We recovered the phone from Melanie Sullivan,” Miller said, showing Marcus the bag.

Marcus took off his leather gloves and drew closer.

He peered at the screen, his sharp eyes taking in the text message from Josephine.

“This is perfect,” Marcus whispered. “It’s exactly what we needed to establish intent.”

“Intent for what?” I asked.

“Extortion,” Marcus said, looking at me. “And unlawful confinement.”

He opened his briefcase on the small bedside table, shuffling through manila folders.

“The journal you gave me, Grace,” Marcus said. “The one you hid in the floorboards of the guest house.”

“I remember,” I said. “I wrote down every date, every time they took my food away.”

“The dates in your journal match the timestamps on these blocked messages perfectly,” Marcus said.