“We have to find where she took Margaret,” I said.

I turned the page in the binder, looking for any other bank details.

A small, sealed envelope fell out from between the pages.

It was addressed to the Royal Court Liaison, marked *Confidential*.

Alaric slid his finger under the wax seal and tore it open.

Inside was a single sheet of paper and a small, vintage black dictaphone tape.

“What is that?” Alexander asked.

“It looks like an exhibit from your father’s personal safe,” Alaric said, handing the tape to me.

The label on the tape was written in my father’s neat, block print: *For Emily. In case of emergency.*

My breath caught in my throat.

“He knew,” I whispered, holding the plastic cartridge in my hand. “He knew what she was doing.”

“Is there a player in the study?” I asked Alaric.

Alaric walked to a cabinet against the wall and opened the wooden doors, revealing a modern media system.

He took the tape from my hand and slotted it into a multi-format deck.

He pressed the play button.

The machine hissed with static for several seconds.