“Evelyn, thank goodness,” Lydia said, her voice strained over the static of the connection. “We have a problem.”

“Thomas was just here,” I said, my eyes fixed on the rain streaming down the glass. “He has forged documents. He’s threatening to ruin my mother’s reputation.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

“What kind of documents?” Lydia asked quietly.

“Offshore accounts,” I said. “Three million dollars. He has my mother’s signature on the transfer slips.”

Lydia sighed, the sound heavy and tired. “Evelyn, if they leak those to the press before the hearing, the judge might delay the injunction just to investigate the validity of your family’s claims.”

“It’s a lie, Lydia. My mother was meticulous.”

“I know she was,” Lydia said. “But in court, a well-made lie can buy them enough time to liquidate Hartwell House’s remaining assets and move the money.”

“I can’t let them destroy her memory,” I said, my hand clenching into a fist. “She built Vale House from nothing.”

“Then we need proof that the documents are fake,” Lydia said. “Do you have any of her original financial files from that period?”