“They have been dispatched from the main gate.”

Celeste’s eyes flickered toward the tall French doors that led to the terrace.

The wind outside was picking up, rattling the heavy glass panes.

“The main gate is three miles down the road,” Celeste said.

“And the storm has knocked down the trees on the outer perimeter.”

“It will take them at least twenty minutes to clear the path.”

She took a slow step backward, away from the hearth.

Her heel struck the edge of the Persian rug.

“You cannot leave, Celeste,” I said.

“The security staff has locked the main foyer.”

“They answer to me, not to you,” Celeste replied.

She reached into her pocket.

For a second, I thought she was reaching for a weapon.

Instead, she pulled out a small, silver lighter.

She flicked it open with her thumb.

The small flame danced in the dim light of the parlor.

“You think you have everything figured out, Alexander,” Celeste said.

“But you don’t know half of what Eleanor left behind.”

She looked directly at the hallway that led to the east wing.

My stomach dropped.