Five months after that Sunday afternoon in her apartment. Five months after she’d handed me the wooden box.

“I don’t understand this,” I said.

“Your grandmother gave me explicit instructions,” Jonathan said. “I was to deliver this document on the day your father publicly disinherited you.”

He glanced toward the stage, where Harold and Josephine were still basking in the applause. “I believe that just happened,” he added.

My hands trembled as I took the envelope from him. “Mr. Woods, what’s in here?” I asked.

For the first time, something almost like warmth flickered in his eyes. “Mrs. Genevieve told me to tell you this: Give this to Cecily on the day Harold shows her exactly who he is. By then, she’ll be ready,” he said.