I sat in the study, reviewing financial grants for the local children's literacy program we had recently sponsored, when the front doorbell chimed. It was an unusual hour for visitors, and our security gates were programmed to alert us of any incoming vehicles.

Stepping out into the foyer, I saw Daniel walking briskly from his study, his phone pressed to his ear. He signaled me to stay back as he reached for the heavy oak front door and pulled it open.

Standing on the porch was a woman in a sharp, charcoal-gray trench coat, her dark hair pulled back into a severe chignon. She wasn't holding luggage, nor did she look like a lost neighbor. She carried an air of calculated elegance that immediately reminded me of Patricia, though her eyes held a sharper, younger desperation.

"Good evening, Daniel," the woman said, her voice smooth, carrying a faint European cadence. "I trust you weren't expecting company at this hour."

"Genevieve," Daniel said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. He didn't invite her in. "Your presence in Ashport is a violation of the restraining order Marcus filed on behalf of the corporation last autumn."

"Restraining orders are for common criminals, Daniel, not business partners," Genevieve replied, stepping past him into the foyer before he could block her path. Her gaze swept over the restored marble floors and the warm lighting, lingering for a fraction of a second on me standing by the stairs. "Ah. Elena. You’ve certainly settled into the manor nicely, haven't you?"