He did not look like a police officer or a lawyer.

He looked like a liquidator.

“There must be some mistake,” Thomas Bell said, stepping past me. “This property is held in a private trust.”

The man in the gray suit did not look at Thomas.

He looked directly at me.

“The trust was used as collateral for a five-million-dollar loan three years ago,” the man said. “The payments have been delinquent for six months.”

He pulled a document from his folder and held it out.

“Signed by Mark Taylor,” the man said. “And co-signed by Eleanor Hartwell.”

My mother’s name.

I looked down at the note in my hand.

The paper felt suddenly heavy, like lead.

“That’s impossible,” I whispered. “My mother would never have signed that.”

The man in the suit reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black device.

“We have the digital signature verification, Ms. Hartwell,” he said. “The funds were transferred to an account in Grand Cayman.”

Patricia stood near the window, her eyes wide as she looked at the man.