“Shit,” Klara hissed under her breath as the door to Roman’s study refused to open. She jiggled the handle once more before glancing down the empty hall. No one.

Then, pulling a small pin from her hair, she picked at the lock.

It clicked.

She slipped inside quickly, heart pounding. The curtains were drawn halfway, sunlight slanting across the shelves stacked with files and ledgers. Roman’s desk sat at the centre, a clean workspace — too clean, which meant whatever she needed was probably hidden.

Klara went through the files and folders on the table. Nothing here seemed like a deed or contract or a clause secretly signed to bring...