It was too early.

She wasn’t supposed to come for another three weeks.

“Amelia,” I whispered, the name slipping out before I could stop it.

“Just breathe, Elizabeth,” Margaret said, her voice steady and calm.

“Focus on me,” she said.

Behind us, the heels of Sloane’s expensive shoes clicked against the hardwood floor.

“You can’t just leave me here,” Sloane called out, her voice high and trembling.

“The police are coming,” Sloane said.

“They think I did something wrong,” she said.

Margaret stopped and turned her head slightly, her profile sharp in the dim light.

“You did do something wrong, Sloane,” Margaret said.

“You helped a man try to steal a trust-owned property,” Margaret said.

“That is fraud, and you are an accomplice,” she said.

We reached the elevator, and Mr. Vance held the door open with his arm.

“Get in, Mrs. Crane,” Mr. Vance said.

I stepped into the mirrored cab, the bright lights making my head spin.

Sloane rushed toward us, her eyes wide with panic.

“Let me come with you,” Sloane begged, reaching out a manicured hand.

“Nathan has my car keys,” Sloane said.