“I’m glad you came, Claire,” he said, leading me into an office that smelled of old leather and lemon oil.

I unwrapped the silver key from my handkerchief and set it on his desk. Without a word, Harrison drew a vintage wooden lockbox from his iron safe.

My hands trembled as I fit the key into the mechanism. It turned.

Inside lay a thick envelope with my name on it, a notarized document, a navy bank passbook, and a separate sealed folder stamped with a corporate logo.

I unfolded the heavy parchment first. Last Will and Testament.

“Vivian drafted this a year ago,” Harrison said quietly. “She knew about Mark’s affairs. And she knew his plan to put you out on the street the moment she was gone.”