He tossed a heating bill back onto the wooden desk.

“I manage commercial real estate developments, Elena.

I don’t need an eighty-year-old estate lawyer telling me how my own father wanted his money handled.”

“Dad locked those drawers himself,” I said.

Julian turned around from the desk, stepping into the narrow walkway between the kitchen table and the counter.

“Then where is the key?” he asked.

“Samuel has the estate timeline,” I said, clearing my throat gently before I spoke.

“We wait for Samuel.”