I picked it up, expecting it to be Miller confirming his safety in Portland.

Instead, the screen showed an unknown number.

I swiped the screen to answer.

“Steel,” I said.

A voice, low and sharp, spoke through the receiver.

“Do not sign those papers, Ryker.”

I held the phone to my ear, my chest tightening.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“You think Eleanor was the only one who wanted that fortune?” the voice said. “Look out your window.”

I stood up from the leather chair.

My knees made a dull cracking sound in the quiet of the study.

I walked to the tall, arched window and pulled back the heavy velvet curtain.

The rain was hitting the glass in steady, rhythmic sheets.

Down below, past the manicured lawn, the iron gates of the estate stood closed.

Just beyond the stone pillars, a pair of headlights cut through the dark.

An engine was idling, sending a faint cloud of exhaust into the cold air.

I pressed the phone tighter to my ear.

“I see you,” I said.

The voice laughed.