“That’s nice to hear.”

After they entered a shallow, dim space that was not ordinarily for customers, the woman closed things up, cranking a circular wheel until there was a clank! As they moved further in, passing into the regular part of the bank, the lights were down low, everything quiet and orderly.

“The paperwork is right over here.”

Gin felt in a bit of a daze as she went across and signed some things at a countertop. And yes, the pen was attached to a date block with a little metal leash of tiny silver links. The thing hissed like a snake as she scribbled her name here … here … and … right here, thank you.

“This is your key,” the woman said. “And I’ll take you to the box now.”

Ryan spoke up. “Do you want to go in alone, Gin?”

“No, if you can carry that?”

“Absolutely.”

The three of them entered the vault that had been opened just for her, and she was escorted to a safe-deposit box down by the floor that seemed like the size of a kitchen trash bin. Taking back the key, the manager leaned in and put it into the slot, added one of her own and then the hatch was opened.

The woman extracted a square metal container out of the compartment with a grunt. “This is our biggest size.”

“Please don’t hurt yourself.” Gin turned to Ryan. “May I?”

She wanted to be the one to put the gold in there—and as soon as she did, she stared at the two of them.

“I want you to be my witnesses. This is for my daughter. In case anything happens to me, this is all hers. I’m giving it to Amelia.”

Gin took a sealed envelope out of her purse. “I put it in this letter. This is for Amelia.”

And the provisions for who got the gold weren’t the only things she’d written down. Samuel T. was in there as well.

He would no doubt be a fantastic father. Once he got over the shock … and the surge of hatred for Gin.

Laying the letter on top of the nylon sacks, she could feel the pair of them looking at her funny, and she couldn’t say she blamed them. After all, her father had just killed himself—or maybe hadn’t, who knew.

They were probably wondering if she was next.

“And if I’m found dead, I want you to know that Richard Pford did it.” She looked them both in the eye, ignoring the alarm she caused. “That’s also in the letter. If I’m killed, he murdered me.”

Lizzie could hardly eat.

It wasn’t that the company was bad. It wasn’t that the small dining room, with its collection of Imari platters mounted on its cream silk walls and its Aubusson rug, wasn’t elegant. And there certainly wasn’t anything wrong with Miss Aurora’s food.

It was more the fact that her man was about to play poker for a pot totaling over fifty thousand—

Million, she corrected herself. Fifty million dollars.

God, she couldn’t get her mind around the sum.

“—good idea at the time,” Lane was saying as he sat back from his second helping and wiped his mouth. “The river was at its high point, and come on, Land Rovers are hearty vehicles. I wanted the challenge. So I took Ernie—”

“Wait,” she said, plugging into the story. “Who’s Ernie?”

Lane leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. “My first car. Ernie.” Jeff spoke up from across the table. “Why do I think this doesn’t end well for Ernie?”

“It didn’t.” Lane took a sip of his ginger ale. “Anyway, I went down to River Road, broke through the police tape—”

Miss Aurora shook her head, even as she was trying to hide her grin. “I’m so glad I didn’t know about this before now or I woulda had words with you, young man.”

“You may still get your chance,” John said with a laugh as he reached for his Coke. “The night is young.”

“Anyway,” Lane interjected, “I learned that as long as you keep moving forward, you got it. That water came all the way up until it was lapping over the hood.”

“This was without a snorkel?” Lizzie said. “Or with?”

“Without. And that was kind of the problem. See, there was this tree floating under the surface—”

“Oh, God,” Lizzie muttered.

“—and it caught me right at the grille. My velocity slowed … and yeah, that was when Ernie died. He was stuck there until the river went down, and you want to talk about silt? The inside of that car looked like it had spent a fortnight out in the desert during a sandstorm.”

As people laughed, Lizzie had to ask, “Wait, so what happened next? What did you tell your father?”

Lane grew serious, the smile leaving his face. “Oh, you know … Edward came in and saved the day. He had a bunch of money that he’d been investing—it wasn’t family cash, it was from summer jobs and birthday presents. He bought me a used one that looked just like Ernie, same interior, same exterior. A few more miles, but like Father was going to check the speedometer? Without Edward … man, that wouldn’t have gone well.”

“To big brothers,” John said as he raised his glass.

“To big brothers,” everyone answered.

“So,” Lane murmured as everybody lowered their drinks back to the table. “You ready to do this?”

John got to his feet and picked up his plate. “Soon as we help clear. I can’t wait. I’m feeling lucky tonight, son. I’m feeling lucky!”

As Jeff and Miss Aurora got up as well, Lizzie stayed where she was, and Lane, as if sensing her mood, didn’t move either as everyone else filed out.

“You sure this is a good idea?” she whispered as she took his hands in hers. “Not that I don’t trust you. It’s just … that’s so much money.”

“If I win, Ricardo Monteverdi and that loan at Prospect Trust largely goes away—and then we’ve got half a chance because Jeff is going to turn the company around. God, you should have seen him down at headquarters. He’s … amazing. Just incredible. We’ll have some lean months, but by the end of the year? We’ll be up to date on accounts payable and Mack won’t have to worry about where the grains for his mash are coming from anymore.”

“I can’t believe you’re so calm.” She laughed. Or cursed. It was hard to know what that sound coming out of her was. “I feel like I’m a nervous wreck and I’m just on the sidelines.”