He took a step closer, his breath smelling of mint and old paper.

“They suggest she diverted over three million dollars from the foundation’s charity funds into her personal offshore accounts,” Thomas whispered.

“That is a lie,” I said, my voice dropping.

“It won’t matter if it is a lie once the state attorney receives these documents tomorrow morning,” Thomas said. “Your mother’s legacy will be completely destroyed before noon.”

He looked toward the window, where the dark Newport sky was beginning to flicker with distant lightning.

“Unless,” Thomas said, “you decide to drop the emergency injunction against Hartwell House tonight.”

My phone buzzed in my hand again, a long, continuous vibration that signaled an incoming call from an unknown number.

I let the call go to voicemail.

The vibration died against my palm, leaving only the sound of the rain lashing against the tall windows of the study.

Thomas Hartwell watched me with a cold, steady gaze that reminded me exactly where Carter had learned his cruelty.

“You have ten seconds to decide, Evelyn,” Thomas said, his voice as dry as the paper he held.