I looked at Charles, trying to find some shred of the boy I used to know before his sister turned him against his own father.

“Charles,” I said softly. “Please.”

He looked down at his shoes, his shoulders slumping.

“We just want what’s ours, Eleanor,” he mumbled. “Father shouldn’t have left you everything.”

“He left me what was right,” I said.

Victoria grabbed my arm, her fingers digging through the fabric of my sleeve.

“Let go of me,” I said, pulling back.

“Show me what’s in your pockets,” she hissed.

Before I could pull away, the heavy oak front door downstairs slammed shut with a force that shook the entire house.

We all froze.

Footsteps began to climb the stairs, slow and deliberate.

The heavy footsteps stopped just outside the bedroom door.

The brass doorknob turned slowly.

My breath caught in my throat as the door swung open.

It was Henry Vance, Garrett’s attorney, his coat wet from the damp air outside.

He looked at Victoria, then at Charles, and finally at me.

“What is going on in here?” Henry asked, his voice low and sharp.