Eric said that the Vandersols had come to get some of Claire’s things. Would they be in the suite he’d shared with Claire or in her old suite upstairs? Had Phil scanned each monitor and found their location? There were many cameras and each image was relatively short-lived as the monitors rotated their feed—scanning each frame took time.

As these and many more questions raced through his mind, the door to the office suddenly opened. Catherine casually entered, oblivious to her unexpected company. She didn’t even notice Tony until she looked up. Her initial expression verified her surprise as an audible gasp escaped her lips. Tony instantly knew that Eric could be trusted—he hadn’t set a trap. Quickly, she closed the door behind her. Tony remained silent as Catherine Marie straightened her shoulders and appeared to gather her thoughts. After a prolonged silence, she glared in Tony’s direction and said, “Anton.”

The evil that is in the world almost always comes of ignorance, and good intentions may do as much harm as malevolence if they lack understanding.

—Albert Camus

Tony incredulously stared, wondering what he’d planned to say. Thoughts formed fast and furiously as he rose from the chair and walked slowly toward her. With each step forward, he watched Catherine analyzing his expression. She wanted to know his thoughts, and if he knew her master plan. Striving to keep his gaze indifferent, he stopped inches in front of her. “Good afternoon, Catherine.”

She exhaled and brought her hands to her chest. “Oh, thank God. I was afraid you were dead. Tell me, where have you been! Did you find Claire?” Each statement came a little quicker than the last.

He turned and walked back to his desk, contemplating his plan. Shaking his head, he sat and pointed to one of the chairs next to the desk. Her lips tightened into a flat line as she walked toward the seat he’d just assigned. Tony waited for her compliance. Once she was seated, he answered, “I’ve searched everywhere—it’s like she fell of the face of the earth.” Leaning back, he purposely hesitated and furrowed his brow.

Taking the bait, she asked, “What is it?”

“She stole our money.”

“What?”

“I went to Geneva, and the money Nathaniel left—for us”—he paused—“for you and for me—the bulk of it was gone. To the best of my calculations, she took somewhere over 200 million dollars!”

“How? How did she know about it? And how have you been able to survive? I mean, when they wouldn’t say if you were alive or dead—I assumed you were using that money for your search.”

Tony explained how he made it to Geneva and found the almost empty safety deposit box. The only documentation inside was to a savings account, in his name, with merely half of a million and an unsigned note.

“Oh, what did the note say?”

Tony lowered his eyes and cleared his throat. “It said, this time, I’m not walking away empty handed.”

Catherine gasped. “Oh, Anton, she did leave you. So the reconciliation was bogus—nothing but a sham for your money”—she shook her head—“I’m so sorry. Did you keep looking?”

Blood rushed to Tony’s cheeks as he fought his emotion—fought to continue the charade—as he fought the red. Although Catherine probably assumed the rage that threatened to erupt was meant towards Claire—the true recipient was a mere few feet away. Pounding his fist against the desk, he replied, “Of course I did! She’s alive and took my money!”

Catherine leaned toward him, her voice only a whisper, “Anton, lower your voice.”

His tone softened, yet remained equally determined, “I’ll scream from the damn rooftops if I want.”

“I have guests. You don’t want anyone to find you, do you? Last I heard, if you’re alive, then you’re a wanted man.”

Enunciating each word, he asked, “Guests? Who Catherine? Who’s here?”

Catherine glanced toward her hands. As she hesitated, he took in the woman before him. When she first entered the room, he’d been preoccupied, now he saw her—really saw her. Just like his office—she too had changed. The transformation wasn’t dramatic, not one stark difference; however, it was like the picture Roach showed them months ago. Her hair was shorter, more stylish, and the color was lighter—she wore more make-up than before—and her clothes were nicer than he’d ever seen her wear. Without a doubt, the changes made her appear younger and more confident. She no longer gave the air of house hold staff—Catherine looked like the lady of the manor.