“He told me the probate was a formality and that we would be in Europe by spring.”

She wiped a tear from her cheek, leaving a streak of dark mascara on her pale skin.

“But he is millions of dollars in debt,” she said.

“He used his own firm’s client accounts to fund his lifestyle, and the auditors are coming next week.”

“He is going to prison, and I am not going with him.”

A floorboard creaked in the ceiling above us.

Both of us froze, our eyes darting upward.

The wind howled outside, rattling the loose wooden frame of the pantry door.

“You need to go,” Juliette whispered, her hand trembling as she pointed toward the door.

“If he finds you here, he will lose what little mind he has left.”

“He has a gun in the library desk, Claire.”

My heart did a slow, heavy roll in my chest.

“A gun?” I asked.

“My father’s revolver,” she said.

“He took it out of the safe this afternoon.”

“He keeps spinning the cylinder while he drinks.”

I slipped the cold drive deep into the pocket of my coat.