Chapter 64:


    “Done,” Grayson said. “Belle stays in the city.”


    “Gray!” Belle gasped. “You can’t be serious!”


    “Stay home, Belle,” Grayson said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You’ve done enough damage for one week.”


    Belle slumped back in her seat, furious.


    “Second,” Isolde continued. “If your mother says one word — one single word — that insults my daughter, I leave. And I release the rest of the footage from today. The parts where she calls a child’s heritage into question.”


    Grayson winced. “I will handle Mother.”


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    “You better,” Isolde said. “The way you handle your stock price.”


    She opened the car door for Effie.


    “Isolde,” Grayson said.


    She looked at him over the roof of the car.


    “Did she really — did she really do it on her own? The test?”


    Isolde looked at him with a mixture of pity and exhaustion.


    “That is your tragedy, Grayson,” she said softly. “You would rather believe a lie than ept that your daughter is extraordinary. You threw away a diamond because you were too busy polishing a piece of coal.”


    She got in the car and closed the door.


    Grayson stood there as she drove away, the words echoing in his head. Diamond. Coal.


    He climbed back into the Maybach.


    “I can’t believe you’re letting her dictate terms,” Belle muttered.


    “Shut up,” Grayson said. “Just… shut up.”


    On the drive home, Effie held her trophy in herp, turning it slowly in both hands.


    “Mommy, is Great-Grandma nice?”


    “She’splicated,” Isolde said. “But she respects strength. And you, my love, are the strongest person I know.”


    Isolde’s mind drifted to the other reason she had agreed to go. The Estate attic. Her grandmother had worked there as a maid, decades ago. Before she died, she had whispered about a box — a box she had left behind. Isolde needed to find it.


    The drive to the Hudson Valley was scenic, the leaves burning in shades of fire and gold.


    Isolde drove her Volvo. Grayson’s convoy followed a mile behind.


    She pressed the gas. The modified engine — something she had tinkered with in the garage — purred beneath her. She took the curves of the winding river road with the precision of a race car driver.


    “Whee!” Effie cheered from the back seat. “Go fast, Mommy!”


    Isolde smiled. “Tactical evasion, baby.”


    In the rearview mirror, the ck SUVs shrank to dots.


    They arrived at the Lancaster Estate gates ten minutes ahead of Grayson. The iron gates groaned open.


    The house was a monstrosity of Victorian Gothic architecture — turrets, gargoyles, dark stone. It looked like a vampire’s summer home.


    Isolde parked and took a deep breath. She hated this ce. It smelled of old money and mildew.


    Grayson’s car pulled up as they were climbing out. He looked flustered.


    “You drive… aggressively,” he noted.


    “I drive efficiently,” Isolde corrected.


    Mrs. Higgins, the housekeeper, opened the massive oak doors and looked down her nose at Isolde.


    “Ms. Carson. The guest quarters in the servants’ wing have been prepared.”


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