The study door flew open.

Victoria stood in the threshold, her designer trench coat damp from the mist outside.

Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin, bitter line.

Charles hovered behind her shoulder, adjusting his tie with a trembling hand.

“What are you doing in here, Eleanor?” Victoria asked, her voice cold.

She looked past me, her eyes dropping immediately to the pulled-back Persian rug.

The open hatch and the gaping iron safe were fully visible in the dim light.

“You have no right to be in this house,” Charles said, his voice cracking slightly.

“This is Garrett’s house,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected.

“It belongs to the estate now,” Victoria said, stepping into the room. “Our estate.”

I lifted the manila folder so she could see it.

“Not according to this,” I said.

Victoria stopped walking, her eyes locking onto the document in my hand.

I saw the color drain from her cheeks.

“Where did you get that?” she whispered.

“Garrett left me the key, Victoria,” I said.

I opened the folder with one hand, letting the top page fold back.