“Are legal and binding. The DESD, or what you thought was the Department of East Side Development, is not a real government department. It’s my company.”

Greene’s eyes nearly bulged from his skull. “What are you saying? That I have . . .”

“I’m saying you have signed the house over to me.” Satisfaction flooded his veins at the expression of horror on the other man’s face. With a sinister smile, Clay continued. “I filed the architectural plans to build around her merely to create a threat. I wanted to back you into a corner, force you to consider other options. Except I made certain I was behind those other options. You played right into my hands, actually. Your mother’s home now belongs to me.”

You played right into my hands, actually. Your mother’s home now belongs to me.

Florence froze, the words ringing in her ears as she watched from her hiding place, the peephole adjacent to Clay’s office.

The school had been a lie. The city’s involvement had been a lie. The eminent domain? Also a lie.

Clay had lied. About all of it.

Her chest constricted as her mind rapidly turned this information over. Mr. Crain. Of course. That explained why she saw him both at the Bronze House and at her family home.

Good Lord.

It was too much to take in. Granny’s house . . . gone. Clay had known how much that house meant to her, how it impacted her future. It was more than a pile of stones to her. The home represented her independence, security to follow her dreams.

Dreams she’d have to reconsider now that the house was lost.

Florence sucked in a sharp breath and pressed a shaking hand to her stomach, reeling at the realization.

Clay’s dark gaze met hers and pinned her to the spot, looking at the wall as if he could see right through it. Had he heard her gasp?

She didn’t care if he knew she was here or not, dash it. Clay had used dishonest means to take her grandmother’s house, her father’s childhood home. Florence’s future. It would be absurd if it wasn’t so painful.

How could he do this?

She’d followed her father to the Bronze House, determined to get answers. The hansom driver had promised to keep pace with her father’s carriage for an extra two dollars, which Florence had gladly paid. She’d hoped for a reasonable explanation from Clay, one that would reassure her he wasn’t a complete monster.

Wrong. He was an absolute monster . . . and she’d been an absolute fool.

The walls began to close in around her, air in short supply. She leaned over and sucked in several long breaths. She had to escape. Get as far away from him and this place as possible.