flights, my funeral-review shoes slipping on concrete.
He was faster, but he made one mistake.
At the landing, he looked back.
That cost him half a step.
I grabbed the back of his jacket. We slammed into the wall. His phone skittered across the floor. He drove an elbow into my ribs hard enough to steal my breath, then tore free and bolted down another flight.
I could have kept chasing him.
Instead, I picked up the phone.
It was locked. But the screen still showed the last open image.
Mara’s throat. The brass key. A message draft above it with no name visible, only one line waiting to be sent.
She still has it.
Footsteps sounded above me.
I shoved the phone into my pocket just as Mara entered the stairwell, one hand lifting her dress so she could move.
—Where is he?
—Gone.
—The phone?
I held it out.
She stared at it as if it were a snake.
—Did he send the photo?
—I do not think so.
Her knees seemed to weaken. She gripped the railing.
I had seen Mara handle angry investors, city inspectors, union threats, and a board member who once threw a binder across a conference room. She had never looked like this.
—Mara, I said. —Tell me what is happening.
She laughed once, softly, without humor.
—You called me Mara.
—You told me not to call you Ms. Ellery.
The stairwell door opened above us.
Both of us froze.
A guard’s voice echoed downward. —Ms. Ellery? Your father is asking for you.
Mara closed her eyes.
When she opened them, the executive mask was back, but there were cracks in it now.
—Not here, she whispered. —Come upstairs. Stay beside me. Whatever he says, do not react.
—That is a terrible thing to say to someone before they meet your family.
For the first time ever, Mara almost smiled.
Then she removed the brass key from her neck.
I expected her to hide it in her purse. Instead, she took my hand and pressed the key into my palm.
—Put it in your jacket pocket.
—Why?
—Because if he searches me, he will find nothing.
I stared at her. —Why would your father search you at a charity gala?
The answer came from the landing above.
Victor Ellery’s voice floated down, smooth and calm.
—Because my daughter has always confused privacy with theft.
Mara went still.
Victor descended the stairs slowly. Behind him stood two men in dark suits who were not museum security. One had a square jaw and dead eyes. The other kept his hand near his jacket.
Victor stopped three steps above us.
—Noah, he said. —I hope you are being paid well for this performance.
My ribs throbbed where the fake waiter had hit me. I kept my face blank.
—The hors d’oeuvres are free, I said. —So the night has exceeded expectations.
Mara shot me a look that clearly meant stop talking.
Victor did not laugh.
—Give me the key, Mara.
—No.
—You do not know what you are holding.
—I know exactly what I am holding.
—Then you know it can destroy this family.
Mara’s voice dropped. —This family was destroyed before I was old enough to spell it.
Something passed between them then, old and
