The call connected on the second ring.

“Arthur,” I said, my voice remarkably calm despite the tremor in my knees.

“Catherine?” Arthur’s deep, formal voice filled the quiet room. “Is everything alright?”

“No,” I said. “I am locked inside the master bedroom of the penthouse.”

“My husband and his business partner, Sloane Vale, are currently attempting to siphon five hundred thousand dollars from the trust’s capital reserve.”

“Furthermore, they have begun unauthorized renovations on the property to suit their private commercial interests.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.

“That is a direct violation of the occupancy clause,” Arthur said.

“I have the audited accounts in front of me right now,” I said, my thumb hovering over the send button on an email draft I had prepared days ago.

“I am sending the digital ledger to your personal address, along with the signed invoices from Vale Interiors.”

I tapped the screen.

The email sent.

“I have received them,” Arthur said after a brief pause.

I could hear the rustle of papers and the rapid clicking of a computer mouse as he opened the files.