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floor. “We are about to that point now, I believe.”
    “Well, get on with it, Garrett.” The Hollywood uncle glanced at his wife. “We have a jet reserved for eight o’clock, and I don’t intend to miss it. We’ve already spent three days on this.”
    “How rude of Hazel not to die on your schedule,” Hale said. His family ignored him.
    At the back of the room, Kat dared to open the door a little wider, but no one noticed. The collective gaze of the entire Hale family was locked on Natalie’s father. They sat, straight-backed, on folding chairs, waiting. European cousins lined the right wall; distant nieces and nephews gathered on the left. And, at the front of the room, sat two sons, two daughters, and the various offspring and in-laws who had come with them.
    It felt like a scene straight out of Agatha Christie, with the country manor’s drawing room full of greedy heirs. So Kat peeked inside, staring at the usual suspects.
    “Mrs. Hale discussed this moment with me many times, and, before me, she discussed it with my late father. You should rest assured that Mrs. Hale knew the gravity of what she held and the responsibility it was up to her to bestow. She watched her husband accept the mantle of sole control of Hale Industries when his brother passed. She herself took it up after the death of Mr. Hale the Third.”
    He drew a deep breath. He didn’t look like a man accustomed to public speaking as he read, “‘Hale Industries is our family’s legacy. Our birthright. Our responsibility.’” The attorney adjusted his glasses and spoke directly to the men and women in the front row. “Those were your mother’s exact words.”
    He continued to read. “‘My father-in-law gave it to his sons and then my husband gave it to me, and now it is my responsibility to give it to the next generation—to our family’s best hope, my greatest faith in the future.’”
    Watching, listening, Kat felt a sudden wave of sadness that she had never known the woman who had written those words, and she hated the possibility that there was a traitor in this family’s midst, someone who could manipulate the will of the sixth-wealthiest woman in the world to their liking.
    “‘And thereby,’” the lawyer read on, “‘upon my death, sole ownership and control of Hale Industries shall pass to my grandson, W. W. Hale the Fifth.’”
    Kat might have thought she’d misunderstood, had it not been for the shocked expressions and stunned silence that filled the room.
    “The Fifth ?” Hale’s father asked. “My son? My mother left our company to my son?”
    “Actually, Senior,” Garrett said, “I think it’s his company now.”
    “But he’s a child!” Hale’s aunt cried.
    “And your mother was well aware of that. That is why paragraph eighteen dictates that, should she pass before he is of age, his interest in the company will be held in a trust until he turns twenty-five.”
    “And who’s the trustee?” Hale’s mother asked.
    “I am,” the lawyer said.
    Hale’s father was up, crossing the room, reaching for the document. “I’d like to see that, if you please.”
    “Fine,” Garrett said. “We have copies for each of you. Hazel’s wishes were clear and, make no mistake, her mind was sharp.”
    “I think company performance of late says otherwise,” Hale’s uncle muttered, but no one else said anything aloud.
    “She knew exactly what she wanted,” the lawyer said, and a hush fell over the room as he raised a finger and pointed toward Hale. “And what she wanted was him .”

W hen the noise came in the middle of the night, Kat was the only one who heard it. Perhaps it was because her senses were more heightened, her reflexes more sharp. But probably it was just because she was the only person in the brownstone who wasn’t already fast asleep.
    Gabrielle never even stirred in her twin bed when Kat crept out of the room they shared and down the stairs, inching toward the single light burning in