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“Gabriel,” I correct. But I am not even a tiny bit annoyed.

After we’ve enjoyed our coffee, I lead her into the library where I once hid a considerable amount of money.

“This room is amazing,” she says when we step inside.

“Have you not been in here yet?”

“This house is enormous, and I didn’t want to overwhelm myself with the repairs list. So I haven’t explored much of this wing and none of the third floor.” She glances around the room with the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. “Wow. Are these all of your books, then?”

I look around and walk to the nearest shelf. “They appear to be mine. Perhaps your Aunt Eleanor enjoyed them.”

“Maybe she did. Okay, are we looking for a certain book that you carved a hole into to hide the money?”

I gasp, much like an elderly woman would. I clear my throat to try to recover from the ridiculous noise. “No. We do not abuse books in such a manner.”

“Fair enough.”

“This way.” I pull her with our entwined fingers toward the shelf behind the free standing globe.

She pauses and spins the world. “Wow, this is like seriously outdated.” She points at something in Europe. “This isn’t even a country anymore. And this⁠—”

“Could we possibly save the geography lesson for another time?” I ask.

“Oh, right. Yes, of course.”

Using my free hand, I look up at the shelf eye-level with me and count seven books from the far left. Then I pull that book as if trying to remove it, and the old mechanical lock makes a groaning click.

“Holy shit, you have secret passages?”

“I’m an eccentric millionaire living in a mansion in the woods; of course I have secret passages.”

She looks positively gleeful. “This is the absolute coolest.”

I pull the book all the way down, and the shelf opens, revealing the hidden compartment. “This is more of a secret area as opposed to a full passage. But I can show you those later.”

Once I’ve opened the wall up, I find everything as I left it.

Beside me, April gasps. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“With what?”

“That painting.” She points at the framed piece.

“I bought it on my last trip to France. Why?”

She is staring at me as if I’ve grown a second head.

I go to move the painting out of the way, and she stops me. “I am not an art expert, but I do love it and have studied it in some capacity. I’m fairly certain that is an original Claude Monet painting.”

“It’s not very good, is it?” I ask. “You can scarcely tell what the image is supposed to be.”

“Not very good?” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “You have missed so much being a piece of granite. That painting alone could be worth an absurd amount of money.”

“Allow me to open my safe and let us see if we find any actual money.”

“Carry on. But you’re getting an internet crash course in the Impressionist art movement.”

I simply nod since her words mean very little to me. I move the painting out of the way, then roll the combination wheel to the appropriate numbers. There’s a click and then I open the safe.