As my combat boots hit the top bluestone step, Victoria looked up, her eyebrows drawn into a sharp line.

“Greg Miller called my private cell twenty minutes ago,” Victoria said, her practiced honeyed tone turning razor sharp.

“I know,” I said.

“You had no right to go to Ridgefield National Bank,” Chloe squeaked, dragging out the ends of her words.

“Brandon said you have no authority to look at his company files.”

“Brandon is four million dollars in default on twelve lots,” I said flatly.

Victoria got up from her wicker chair, pulling her cream wool cardigan tight around her wrists.