Claire sat huddled against her aunt on the leather sofa in her father's dusky office. She stared into nothing while she tried to make sense of the events of that evening and how they wove with the tattered strings her distant past. Aunt stroked Claire's hair and held her close, just like when she'd suffered nightmares as a girl. However, this time, she didn't feel the usual ease from her aunt's affection.

Carsten guarded the women from where he perched casually on the edge of Father's desk. He listlessly held the gun on his thigh. Reaching into his breast pocket, he withdrew a small object, deftly used his fingers to goad something out of it, and threw it in his mouth. He tucked the packet away and chewed.

Claire knew without seeing that Aunt glared at their casual captor. She would have done the same if she could have managed to stop thinking of her mother. Naturally, she had clung to the wreckage of her broken home, hoping her father would provide some flotsam on which to ride the tumultuous waves back to some safe harbor. She wondered at how deftly her mind had picked up on warnings, though she'd never pinpointed anything concretely criminal after the fateful day. She'd talked herself into forgiving him so many times, but something in her core refused to follow through, firmly blaming him. Claire refused to berate herself for having tried to be the better person. Anyone in her situation would have tried to dismiss such suspicions as nonsense, as she had, for the sake of holding onto what crumbled pieces of her home were left.

"I should have told you," Aunt mumbled.

"Told me what?" Claire asked, stunned.

"Your mother," Aunt said. "She passed me a note the day your father sent her away. It told me she'd found out something terrible about him. He'd been siphoning money overseas to the Germans. I thought, reading it, that your father just might be right about your mother. It didn't make me any less angry at him. I just never wanted to believe-" Aunt swallowed her words. She blinked back tears and hung her head unable to go on.

"Aunt-please go on," Claire said.

"I just didn't want to believe your father capable of such evil," she finished. After a pause, she addressed Carsten. "How long has this been going on?"

Carsten's eyes rolled to hers. He stopped chewing. His hand shifted on the gun; he resembled a mafia goon more than he did a Nazi.

"You should know that by now, Frau O'Shea," Carsten replied. He gripped his pistol tighter, seeing the women more alert than he had presumed they would be. "Besides, it is not my business to discuss this with you."

"What's he going to do with us?" Aunt pressed.

"Leave you in Switzerland, hopefully," Carsten said.

"Everything you said was a lie." Claire scowled, hating him for the inference.

Carsten's gaze faltered for a moment, seemingly stunned by her words.

"Not everything, Fräulein," Carsten replied coldly. His tone struck hard. "A bit of truth constructs a potent story, but you will never know what was true and what was a lie." His bold gaze went through her like a chill.

"I should have listened to myself when I first saw you," Claire sneered. "I knew you were a rat."

Carsten raised his brows and sighed doubtfully.

Father's office door abruptly burst open. Carsten jumped up from the desk, prepared to shoot whoever had barged into their hideout. The intruder shut the door quick and, before realizing a gun was aimed at him, continued unhindered. But it was only Father, who quickly drew up short, raising his hands to halt his eager henchman. Carsten hid the piece at the ready in his jacket, wearing a malicious countenance.

"The servants will be a short while packing our things," Father spoke, glaring at the younger man. He made his way to his chair behind the desk. "Long enough to enjoy one last cigar."

Carsten sat back on the corner of the desk resuming his vigil.

Father drew one of his Cubans from a special drawer in the desk. He clipped it and then puffed it to life. Sitting back, he put his feet on the desk. He rolled the cigar between his fingers, eyeing Carsten and the women. He chuckled at the display.

"What are you going to do with us?" Aunt demanded to know once more.

Father chuckled at the abrupt question but chose to smoke his cigar instead of responding. He took his time, drawing out the torment.

"I have a few things in mind," Father finally answered. He smirked. "Mr. Reiniger and I are planning on taking a little trip. The government is starting to sniff around my books, so I'll throw them a little bone. While they think I'm making my way to deal with ventures in Ireland, Mr. Reiniger and myself will actually be making our way to Berlin. They'll think us torpedoed, a hazard of wartime. You see, by the time they check the books, all my assets will have been liquidated, disappeared along with me."

Father placed his feet back on the floor and sat up straight, closely studying his cigar. He resumed puffing on the horrible thing. His eyes went to Claire, cold and hard. "By Monday morning you will be the heir to nothing, my dear girl. Are you prepared to defend yourself against the workers and the government when they want answers?" He paused, as if expecting an answer. "See, it seems we have little choice but to take you with me; what else will happen along the way, I cannot say. I just cannot risk you alerting anyone just yet. There's too much at stake."

"Your own blood!" Aunt cried.

Claire had been wounded too deeply to speak.

"Carsten has been working very hard to see my assets redirected to his superiors. They're quite excited and will be most generous in their assistance. I cannot let you ruin that."

"What about your workers?"

Father waved his hand at her. "Posh. None of that matters." He sat back in his chair and puffed away. "I'll be a very rich man."

"You already were a very rich man," Aunt cried. "You had everything a man could want! A beautiful wife and home. A terrific daughter. You're making money hand over fist with that damn factory. Men depended on you. For chrissakes! You got through the depression without a scratch!"

"Oh, Noreen-must you be so sentimental? Those men have gone off to war. Half are probably dead. I have their wives filling the positions now. Everything changes. Am I not in business to make money?"

"They have children to feed," Aunt said.

Aunt opened her mouth to speak again when a knock sounded from the closed office door. Carsten rose without direction and went to answer it. He opened the portal enough to see who had interrupted. They whispered to each other, then Carsten shut the door and went to the desk.

"The butler wanted to let you know everything will be ready in a moment."

"Excellent." Father grinned. He got to his feet. "You girls stay nice and quiet while we complete our work."

The men set their attention on clearing the papers from Father's desk and the nook behind the bookcase. Carsten threw them into the fireplace and set them ablaze. Father pulled the strange machine off the desk carefully. As Carsten resumed his guard duty, Father handed him the weird contraption.

"There you are," Father said. "Don't want to leave this thing behind." He faced the women with a sly grin. "A magnificent invention, the Enigma Machine. I bet our beloved Allied forces would love to get their hands on it." He suddenly remembered himself. "You ladies will be most delicate upon our exit, I trust? If you behave, I will be more likely to be lenient in my ultimate decision."

"I've never known you to be lenient." Aunt smiled up at him, daring to be sarcastic while Father held all the cards.

"If you value your niece's life, you will do what I say," Father told her. He wore that maniacal grin again.

Claire's eyes snapped to her father. He ignored her with little effort. The tears threatened to come as he referred to her as your niece.

"I promised Irene I'd do anything in my power to protect her," Aunt said, finding her anger. "I won't let you harm a hair on this child's head. Don't think I won't fight you and all the Nazis in Germany to do so."

"Noreen." Father drew out her name, clasping his hands behind his back. "Don't be so damn dramatic."

Another knock echoed from the door. Carsten nodded at Father's expectant glance. Then the thug moved quickly to open the door again, sure to tuck his gun out of sight. Wilson stood in the doorway and immediately announced that the baggage was prepared. The car stood at the ready for them to leave. He wished them a fantastic trip.