I returned to the east wing at 5:08.

Nobody looked pleased.

Vittorio stood beside the fireplace.

Arturo remained seated.

Marco Rinaldi had buttoned his coat.

Gerard Voss was stacking paperwork with the offended dignity of a man who billed by the hour.

“Finally,” Vittorio said.

I closed the doors behind me.

“Sit.”

“I am not one of your employees.”

“Then consider it a suggestion.”

Something in my voice made him sit anyway.

I walked to the table.

The marriage agreement lay open beside a black fountain pen.

Arturo leaned back.

“Whatever domestic problem occurred can be handled by staff.”

“You know, Arturo, you keep saying that.”

His expression remained calm.

“Saying what?”

“That you know there was a domestic problem.”

“I was informed.”

“By whom?”

“Vittorio.”

I looked at my uncle.

Vittorio frowned.

“I told him a housekeeper had been accused of theft.”

“No, you didn’t.”

The room changed.

Tiny shift.

Tiny silence.

Vittorio’s eyes narrowed.

“What game are you playing?”

“I didn’t tell you the accusation involved a housekeeper.”

Marco Rinaldi cleared his throat.

“This has nothing to do with our agreement.”

“I’m beginning to think it does.”

I sat.

“Arturo, when did you last access my security system?”

He didn’t blink.

“I don’t know.”

“Try.”

“I oversee many systems.”

“You don’t oversee mine anymore.”

He spread his hands.

“Then perhaps your people should have removed my credentials.”

Dominic entered behind me.

Arturo’s eyes flicked toward him.

There.

Again.

One movement.

One mistake.

Dominic placed a folder in front of me.

“Administrator activity,” he said.

I opened it.

At 10:09 that morning, somebody had logged into the estate’s security network from a device registered to Arturo’s consulting company.

At 10:10, footage from the private corridor began disappearing.

At 10:28, deletion stopped.

Arturo exhaled.

“My company employs eighty people.”

“Good. Give me all eighty names.”

“This is absurd.”

“Then make it less absurd.”

He leaned forward.

“My account could have been compromised.”

“Yes.”

I nodded.

“That’s possible.”

He relaxed slightly.

“Which is why we’ll check.”

Vittorio stood.

“Enough. You are embarrassing all of us over a stolen clock.”

I looked at him.

“My mother’s clock.”

His jaw tightened.

He had loved my mother in the complicated way older brothers-in-law sometimes loved women they could not control.

After my father died, Vittorio had treated the Duca estate as if inheritance were a committee decision.

It wasn’t.

“Sit down,” I said.

This time, he didn’t.

“Bianca has been waiting for your decision for weeks.”

“Bianca isn’t here.”

“She doesn’t need to be here.”

“That sentence is exactly why I’m not signing tonight.”

Marco stiffened.

“My daughter has agreed to the arrangement.”

“Has she?”

“Yes.”

“Did she tell you that, or did you tell her?”

His face hardened.

“This is insulting.”

“Then we agree on something.”

I pushed the contract away.

“You can all leave.”

Vittorio stared at me.

“You don’t understand what you’re risking.”

“No. I understand perfectly.”

My phone vibrated.

A message from Mrs. Calder.

Sofia remembered something.

I stood.

“We’re done.”

Arturo spoke before I reached the door.

“Lorenzo.”

I stopped.

His voice lowered.

“Be careful turning a child’s imagination into an accusation.”

I slowly looked back.

“How did you know there was a child?”

Nobody moved.

Arturo’s face went blank.

Perfectly blank.

It was almost impressive.

Then he smiled.

“Your estate is not as quiet as you think.”

Neither was guilt.

I left.

Sofia was sitting at the dining table in the blue room eating grilled cheese cut into triangles.

Pino’s head rested on her knee.

Elena sat opposite her.

She looked exhausted.

Sofia looked better.

Children had an alarming ability to recover when given food and reassurance.

Mrs. Calder stood near the door.

“What did she remember?”

Sofia raised one hand.

“I remembered.”

I sat across from her.

“Tell me.”

She chewed seriously.

Then swallowed.

“The shiny man.”

“Shiny man?”

“He had a shiny ring.”

“What kind?”

She pointed to her little finger.

“Big one.”

“Color?”

“Silver.”

I glanced at Elena.

She looked confused.

“When did you see him?” I asked.

“With Renata.”

“Today?”

Sofia nodded.

“Where?”

“By the laundry stairs.”

“What were they doing?”

“Talking.”

“Did you hear them?”

She frowned.

“I was coloring.”

“What did he say?”

Sofia closed her eyes, trying to remember.

Then, in a surprisingly deep imitation of an adult male voice, she said, “‘Before sunset.’”

Elena and I looked at each other.

Sofia continued.

“Then Renata said, ‘What about the little girl?’”

My pulse slowed.

That strange cold clarity returned.

“What did the shiny man say?”

She looked down.

“‘Children forget.’”

Elena covered her mouth.

Sofia misunderstood.

“Mommy, don’t cry.”

Elena immediately smiled through tears.

“I’m okay, baby.”

I wasn't.

Not remotely.

“Can you remember what the ring looked like?”

Sofia nodded.

“There was a bird.”

I stood.

In the east wing, Marco Rinaldi wore no ring.

Gerard Voss wore a wedding band.

Arturo wore a plain signet.

Vittorio Duca wore an old silver ring bearing the Duca falcon.

I had seen it every Christmas of my childhood.

My uncle.

I walked into the hallway.

Dominic followed.

“You heard?”

“Yes.”

“Find Vittorio.”

“He left six minutes ago.”

“Stop the car.”

Dominic spoke into his radio.

Three seconds later, an answer came.

“Already through the south gate.”

Of course.

“Track him.”

“On it.”

I leaned against the wall.

The pieces were beginning to form something ugly.

Renata had access to Elena’s badge.

Arturo authorized the duplicate.

Security footage vanished.

Vittorio was seen with Renata.

All on the day I was expected to sign a marriage agreement.

But why Elena?

Why the clock?

There had to be more.

I returned to the room.

“Elena.”

She looked up.

“When you saw Renata photographing documents, was she alone?”

“Yes.”

“Think carefully.”

She hesitated.

“I heard someone in the hallway.”

“Who?”

“I never saw them.”

“Voice?”

“A man.”

“What did he say?”

Her face slowly changed.

“He said, ‘If Lorenzo sees the appendix before the signing, we’re finished.’”

Appendix.

I turned.

“Dominic.”

“I’ll get the contract.”

He left at once.

Ten minutes later, the east-wing table had been cleared except for the marriage agreement.

Gerard Voss had taken his copies.

Unfortunately for him, my staff had scanned everything before the meeting.

I began reading.

Not the main pages.

The appendices.

Page thirty-seven.

Thirty-eight.

Thirty-nine.

There.

A clause buried beneath joint asset protections.

Upon marriage, certain Duca-controlled holding companies would be consolidated into a newly created family trust.

Three trustees.

Me.

Bianca.

And—

Vittorio Duca.

Major decisions required two votes.

Marriage would give my uncle control if Bianca voted with him.

I laughed once.

No humor in it.

“He wasn’t arranging my marriage.”

Dominic read over my shoulder.

“He was arranging a takeover.”

“Yes.”

But that still didn’t explain the clock.

Elena stood in the doorway.

“You said Renata photographed papers.”

She nodded.

“What if those were these?”

“Maybe.”

“Did you touch them?”

“No.”

“Did you read anything?”

“One heading.”

“What?”

“Trust restructuring.”

Of course.

Renata saw Elena see the documents.

Elena became a risk.

So they needed her gone.

Fired.