Mark and Patricia were arrested together at a motel near the state line, their car packed with suitcases and loose documents.

The local newspaper ran a small article on the front page of the business section: *Prominent Real Estate Family Charged with Grand Larceny and Trust Fraud.*

I kept a clipping of the article in the blue folder, next to my mother’s last letters.

Today, the first group of students was arriving at Hartwell House.

I stood in the grand salon, which had been cleared of its heavy, dark Victorian furniture.

In its place stood three grand pianos, their black lacquer surfaces reflecting the light from the tall bay windows.

The air smelled of lemon wax, fresh paint, and the sweet scent of lilacs blooming in the garden outside.

Thomas Bell walked into the room, holding a cup of tea.

“The bus from the city academy just turned into the drive,” he said, smiling.

“Are the practice rooms ready?” I asked.

“Every one of them,” he said. “The tuners finished the uprights in the east wing this morning.”

We walked out onto the stone terrace together.