His leather shoes hurried after us, his footsteps echoing off the high, arched ceilings.

We reached the foyer, and I grabbed the girls’ light cardigans from the coat closet.

My hand brushed against my leather purse hanging on the brass hook.

Inside the pocket, my phone vibrated once, a strong, rhythmic pulse.

I pulled it out.

The bright screen illuminated the dim hallway.

It was an encrypted text message from Arthur, my chief legal counsel.

He had been waiting for my signal all evening.

The message contained a single PDF attachment labeled: *Lease_Agreement_Highland_Park_Executed.pdf*.

I tapped the screen, opening the file.

The document showed the landlord of our residence was a entity called Cypress Holdings LLC.

Cypress Holdings was a subsidiary I had created five years ago to manage my residential acquisitions in North Dallas.

Graham had no idea that the landlord he paid every month was actually me.

“Jocelyn, stop this right now,” Graham said, reaching the foyer.

His face was flushed, and a thin line of sweat shone on his forehead.

“You cannot just walk out on my mother’s dinner,” he hissed, keeping his voice down so it wouldn’t carry back to the dining room.