We turned off the main highway onto the long, private road leading to the Hartwell estate.

The iron gates opened silently, welcoming us back into the world I had tried so hard to leave behind to be a simple furniture restorer.

The stone manor stood dark against the wet sky, its ancient windows reflecting the headlights.

Inside, the air smelled of beeswax, lemon oil, and old wood.

A nurse my father hired was already waiting in the nursery upstairs to help with Maisie.

I settled Maisie into her crib and stood there for a long time, watching her chest rise and fall.

My phone chimed in my pocket, the screen lighting up.

It was an email from Clara with the subject line: *Pierce Development – Financial Overview.*

I sat down at the small writing desk in my old bedroom, the green shaded lamp casting a warm circle of light over the mahogany wood.

I opened the attachment, expecting to see a standard corporate filing.

The first page was a summary of Nolan’s firm’s liabilities.

My eyes scanned the columns of red numbers, my breath catching in my throat.