I stare at my best friend incredulously, then sigh and push my fingers into my eyes to try to relieve the headache that’s set up residence just behind them.

“I wouldn’t have asked you to come here if I didn’t think the information that Bill has is valuable,” Kane says. “And before you cut my bleeding head off again, you’ll shut up and listen, Mary Margaret.”

If looks could kill, Kane would be in a bloody heap on the floor.

“I don’t mean to upset you,” Bill says. “There hasn’t been much to find that you didn’t already know. Until about two days ago.”

He opens his briefcase and pulls out some paper copies of documents and photos.

“I stumbled upon this account and safety deposit box belonging to a Lemonade, LLC in the Cayman Islands.”

It’s about time you found that account, you idiot.

Maggie’s eyes widen, but then she shrugs. “So?”

I want to pull her to me and tell her that everything will be okay. But when it comes to this matter, I don’t know how much reassurance or support she wants from me. She’s been hell-bent on healing privately, almost from the minute she found out that her husband was dead.

“So, your safety deposit box key probably goes to that,” Kane says.

“I don’t care,” she insists. “I don’t freaking care, Kane.”

“That’s bullshite,” Kane replies, his voice raised in frustration and his Irish accent stronger. “You have an opportunity to find out what’s in that damn box.”

“And the account is worth half a million dollars,” Bill adds.

“I’m probably not the beneficiary,” Maggie says. “He had a dozen accounts, and I wasn’t the beneficiary on any of them. Not to mention, it’s likely money he stole, so it doesn’t belong to me anyway.”

“That’s why he stashed it down there,” Bill says, echoing my thoughts. “It can’t be traced. And, you are, in fact, the beneficiary.”

Her mouth opens and then closes again.

“Bullshit.”

“Not bullshitting you,” Bill says patiently. “All you have to do is go down there with your identification and claim it.”

Maggie sits on the couch, and Murphy lays his head in her lap. She absently pets his head.

“Half a million,” she whispers. So many emotions cross her face all at once—going from confused to sad to angry once more.

“I don’t want it.”

“Mary Margaret,” Kane begins, but she cuts him off.

“I don’t want it,” she repeats and digs into her purse, coming up with the key before throwing it at her brother. “If you’re dying to know what’s in the box, you go look.”

“Only the beneficiary can claim it,” Bill informs her.