I took a deep, slow breath to quiet the racing of my heart.

“What about the penthouse itself?” I whispered, keeping my eyes fixed on the vibrating doorknob.

“The trust agreement is clear,” Margaret replied.

“Any unauthorized structural changes or use of the property by non-family members constitutes a material breach.”

I looked toward the adjoining nursery door.

Through the gap, I could see the expensive, minimalist wallpaper Sloane had ordered.

She had stripped away the hand-painted mural my mother had commissioned before she died.

Sloane had replaced my family’s history with her own cold, modern aesthetic.

“She has already altered the nursery,” I said into the phone.

“She brought in her own design firm under her company name, Vale Interiors.”

“She billed the trust’s maintenance account for the work, labeling it as emergency repairs.”

A heavy silence hung on the line for a moment.

“We have the invoices,” Margaret said.

“And we have the bank logs showing Nathan approved the payments to her firm.”

“This is not just a breach of the trust, Catherine.”

“This is self-dealing and fraud.”

Outside the bedroom door, the pounding stopped.