The sole registered agent was listed as Sloane Vale.

But the mailing address for tax purposes was a residential property in Connecticut.

It was an apartment building I recognized.

My husband’s mother owned that building.

I stared at the screen, my mind racing as the pieces began to connect.

This wasn’t just a design firm Sloane had built.

It was a shell.

Every invoice sent to the Crane trust from Vale Design Group was signed by Nathan.

I scrolled down to the transaction histories attached to the back of the leak file.

There were dozens of them over the last twenty-four months.

The total amount transferred was staggering.

Hundreds of thousands of dollars had been moved out of my family’s estate.

And it had all gone directly into Sloane’s personal accounts.

They hadn’t just been having an affair.

They had been draining my inheritance right under my nose.

I picked up the phone again, my thumb hovering over Margaret’s number.

The apartment felt suddenly very cold.

Outside, the rain had turned into a steady pour, washing over the floor-to-ceiling windows.