My stomach dropped.

It was the exact shade of blue from the pad on my nightstand.

She unfolded it, read it once more, and a cold smile touched her lips.

“She has the note,” I whispered.

“How did she find it?” my father asked.

His hand gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white.

“I put it there only twenty minutes ago,” I said. “She must have been watching the kitchen.”

“Or she has someone else in the house watching us,” Ramiro said.

On the screen, Patricia walked out of the study.

Vance followed her, carrying his leather briefcase.

They did not head toward the front door to meet the courier.

They turned left, toward the east wing.

That was where the kitchen was.

And that was where Martina was currently sitting in the small dining alcove.

On monitor four, I saw my younger sister, Martina.

She had her drawing pad open on her lap, her colored pencils scattered on the wooden table.

She looked up as the door to the alcove swung open.

Patricia entered first.