until the probate cleared.” Mark looked at her, his face turning a dark, angry red. “You wanted the apartment, Juliette,” he said. “You didn’t care where the lease came from.” “Because you said it was yours!” she screamed. The man in the grey suit tapped his tablet once, the screen glowing in the dim light near the door. He looked at Thomas and nodded. “The transfers have been flagged,” the man said. Mark’s phone stopped buzzing, then immediately began to ring again. The screen lit up with the name of his bank’s compliance director. The blue light cast a cold shadow across the music rack of the piano. I took a deep breath, the scent of old wood and dry paper filling my lungs. “Where did the money go, Mark?” I asked softly. He did not answer, but his hand began to tremble slightly against his side. Patricia watched him, her eyes darting toward the door as if looking for an escape. Thomas Bell stood up from his chair, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the table. He looked at me, then reached into his briefcase. He pulled out a single sheet of paper with a diagram of the estate’s cellar. “There is the matter of the private vault,” Thomas said, his voice echoing in the quiet hall.