THE MAFIA BOSS WAS ABOUT TO TOAST HIS ENGAGEMENT WHEN AN INJURED MAID REVEALED THAT HIS FIANCÉE HAD BEEN PREPARING A FALSE MURDER CONFESSION FOR SOMEONE AT THE DINNER.

“I think the painting was supposed to do something,” I said. “I think the marriage certificate was just what fell out.”

My father gripped the rail of my hospital bed.

“Olivia,” he whispered, “when I worked at South Harbor, the missing money wasn’t the worst part.”

We all looked at him.

He swallowed. “Someone changed the records to make it look like the families who lost their homes had been paid. They hadn’t. I copied proof. The original ledger disappeared after the fire.”

“Who took it?” I asked.

My father looked at Gabriel, who had appeared in the doorway just in time to hear.

“Ask the man who signed the transfer,” Dad said.

“Who?” Gabriel demanded.

Dad’s voice was almost inaudible.

“Your uncle Vincent.”