TAKE YOUR FILTHY TOOLS OFF MY MOTHER’S PIANO!” THE BILLIONAIRE’S SISTER THREW A 64-YEAR-OLD TUNER’S CASE ACROSS THE BALLROOM—

Camille’s hands were shaking violently as she aimed the gun at Arthur. Her red evening gown was torn at the hem, and her face was streaked with black mascara.

"Put it down, Arthur," Camille repeated, her voice cracking. "It's over. The police are upstairs. They're breaking down the ballroom doors right now."

Arthur didn't lower his revolver. He looked at Camille with utter disgust. "You foolish, weak girl. We are minutes away from securing a billion-dollar empire, and you lose your nerve?"

"You didn't tell me you were going to kill Jonathan!" Camille screamed, tears flying down her cheeks. "You said we were just going to destroy the will and trap them until the money was moved!"

"Jonathan will never stop looking," Arthur said coldly. "He's like his father. Righteous. Stubborn. He has to die."

"No!" Camille took a step down the stairs. "I won't let you hurt my brother!"

Jonathan stared at his sister, entirely stunned. For all her cruelty, for all her greed, when it came down to a bullet, Camille was choosing him.

Arthur sighed heavily. "Disappointing. But not unexpected."

Without a second of hesitation, Arthur shifted his aim and fired.

The gunshot was deafening in the concrete basement.

Camille gasped, dropping her weapon as she grabbed her stomach. A dark red stain bloomed across the silk of her dress. She collapsed onto the metal stairs, tumbling down the remaining steps before landing in a heap on the basement floor.

"Camille!" Jonathan screamed, lunging forward.

Arthur swung the gun back toward Jonathan, but I was already moving.

I didn't have a weapon, but I still had my leather tool bag. I swung the heavy bag with all my strength, throwing it directly at Arthur's head. The heavy steel wrenches and tuning hammers inside slammed into his face.

Arthur stumbled backward, firing a wild shot that pinged off the concrete ceiling. He dropped his gun, clutching his bleeding nose.

I kicked his revolver away, sliding it across the floor into the shadows.

Jonathan slid to his knees beside Camille, pressing his hands desperately against her stomach to stop the bleeding.

"Hold on, Cam," Jonathan begged, his hands covered in blood. "Just hold on."

Camille looked up at him, her breathing shallow. "I'm sorry, Jon. I was so angry... that Dad didn't want me. I just wanted... to belong."

"You're my sister," Jonathan wept. "You always belong to me."

Arthur groaned, pushing himself up from the floor. He looked at the revolver out of his reach, then at the open incinerator.

He lunged for the white envelope with the red wax seal that had fallen to the ground.

"The will!" I yelled.

Arthur grabbed it and threw it directly into the roaring flames of the incinerator.

"It's gone!" Arthur laughed, spitting blood onto the floor. "Without that will, the girl gets nothing! The foundation remains in my control!"

Maya broke away from me.

Before I could stop her, she ran toward the incinerator. She didn't reach for the flames. Instead, she reached into her small pocket and pulled out the brass tuning fork I had given her.

She slammed the metal fork against the heavy iron release valve on the side of the incinerator.

The valve snapped open. A blast of pressurized water from the boiler system above flooded into the firebox, extinguishing the flames in a massive cloud of black steam.

Arthur screamed in rage.

I ran forward and reached into the wet ashes. I pulled out the white envelope. The edges were charred, but the wax seal was intact. The paper inside was unharmed.

Arthur lunged at me, his hands reaching for my throat.

But a heavy steel door slammed open at the top of the stairs, and five armed Chicago police officers stormed into the basement.

"Drop to the ground! Now!"

Arthur froze. He slowly raised his hands, his face pale with defeat.

I looked down at the charred envelope in my hands, holding the truth of a family's legacy. But as the paramedics rushed past me to save Camille, Maya pulled gently on my apron.

"Eleanor," the little girl whispered, holding up a small, partially burned photograph she had pulled from the ashes. "If Arthur killed my mother... then who is this?"