“You are letting your imagination run wild because you are looking for things that aren’t there.”

I felt the heavy weight of the keys in my pocket.

Keys to the penthouse.

Keys to a property that did not belong to him, even if he believed it did.

“This apartment belongs to the Crane family trust,” I said, my voice gaining strength.

Nathan laughed, a short, dry sound.

“The trust that pays for our mortgage, our insurance, and our travel?”

“Yes,” I said.

“The trust that has funded my firm’s latest expansion?” he asked, looking amused.

“Margaret Crane might be your aunt, Catherine, but she is a business person.”

“She knows my firm brings in the returns that keep this trust healthy.”

“She wouldn’t dream of interfering with our lifestyle.”

I thought of Margaret’s sharp, grey eyes from our meeting earlier that afternoon.

I thought of the thick manila folder she had slid across the desk to me.

Inside that folder was the original deed to this penthouse.

And inside that deed was the silent clause my grandfather had written fifty years ago.