I waste no time before I’m on the move, taking the stairs two at a time. The corridor is long and grand, lots of haughty-looking artwork adorning the wainscoted walls, most notably a Helmut Newton of two naked women smoking in front of a car, things that look different now that all the lights are on and there are no people shouting in the background. One of the two French doors at the crown of the hall is ajar, and the closer I get, the louder and wetter Izzy’s vomiting becomes.

When I turn inside the slightly opened door Izzy has disappeared behind, I see that this is Simon’s bedroom suite. There’s a massive four-poster bed in the middle of the room, covered in silky white sheets and a matching duvet. The door to a walk-in closet is slightly ajar. I can see the wood and perfectly arranged clothes and shoes from here. There’s a small sitting area in one corner of the room, and a small bar cart in the other. The door to the en suite is wide-open. Izzy is down on her knees with her head in the porcelain. She looks even worse than she sounds, and apparently, she’s given up on holding her hair out of the way.

“Taylor got everything if Simon died,” I say, what I just read downstairs reverberating in my head as I slowly make my way across the room.

I, Simon Van Doren, make, publish and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, revoking all wills and codicils at any time heretofore made by me.

I give all of my property and estate to Taylor Van Doren.

I appoint Taylor Van Doren as Executor of this Will.

Taylor tried to get me on her side, telling me all that shit her father did to her, to her mom, but this is why she killed him. I assumed from the jump that Taylor had a hefty trust fund set up just like all the other heiresses who work at Van Doren, who dominate the general fashion scene, but inheriting his entire estate is wild. It’s motive doused in marinade. And now it’s in my hands. My literal Get Out of Jail Free card. Maybe Simon Van Doren truly was a horrible man and is the reason her mother took her own life, but inheriting every penny of his net worth was Taylor’s prime benefit from making him disappear.

Izzy gags and heaves a few times, and I glance away to give her privacy. After she catches her breath, her eyes flit around for something. She looks completely disoriented, her eyes watery, so I hand her a towel that I grab from a glass cabinet. She wipes her face, and there’s some remnants she misses, but I ignore it, clenching my stomach to bear the awful stench, and step closer to her.