‘Or what?’
There was a knock at the door.
I walked back through the entryway, past the urn, and opened it.
Elena Cruz stood there in a navy suit, rain dampening her shoulders.
Beside her was Luis Ortega, the building manager, holding a clipboard.
And next to him stood Deputy Collins from St. Johns County—calm, broad-shouldered, and already wearing that bored expression law enforcement gets when other people’s audacity has made the outcome obvious.
Elena held a black folder tucked under one arm.
‘Mrs.
Hale,’ she said.
Marjorie appeared behind me in the hallway.
‘Who is this?’
Elena glanced past my shoulder, taking in the suitcases.
The open closets.
The people.
The list on the dining table.
When her eyes returned to Marjorie, they held no emotion at all.
‘Elena Cruz,’ she said.
‘Counsel for the late Bradley Hale and for the St.
Augustine Harbor Trust.
I’m here because this residence is under active legal protection and the trustee has reported unauthorized entry and attempted removal of property.’
You could feel the air shift with that sentence.
Declan stepped back.
Marjorie lifted her chin higher.
‘This is family property.’
Luis opened his clipboard.
‘No, ma’am.
This unit is owned by Harbor Residential Holdings, retitled into the St.
Augustine Harbor Trust six days ago.
Occupancy rights belong solely to Mrs.
Avery Hale.
We also have written revocation of all prior access permissions.’
Marjorie’s expression tightened.
‘That’s impossible.’
Elena slid the first document from the folder and held it up just enough for everyone to see the seal.
‘It is not impossible,’ she said.
‘It is recorded.’
Fiona tried to recover first.
‘There’s no will.
We checked.’
