Julian gave me a bottle,” she whispered. “He said it was a sedative. He wanted me to put it in your tea after you signed the divorce papers.”
My pulse thudded in my ears.
“And then?”
“He said you’d be confused. That you’d fall down the stairs.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
Elena looked toward the stone steps.
Only then did I understand.
The kitchen floor had been opened as part of my grandmother’s final security protocol. But Julian had known there was some kind of lower chamber. Perhaps not what it contained, but enough to improvise.
A fall.
A tragic accident.
A grieving estranged husband.
A ten-million-dollar insurance payout.
Beatrice folded her arms.
“She’s lying to save herself.”
Elena whirled on her.
“You bought the pills!”
Harold sat down heavily against a metal cabinet.
Julian pressed both hands to his head.
“This is insane.”
“No,” I said. “This is your family.”
My voice sounded calmer than I felt.
I picked up the forged insurance policy.
For years, I had blamed myself for the distance in my marriage. I believed Julian’s resentment came from business pressure, from pride, from the humiliating burden of debt.
I had made excuses for his cruelty.
I had confused endurance with devotion.
Now the final illusion collapsed.
He had not fallen out of love with me. He had decided my death was more profitable than my life.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Julian looked toward the stairs.
Marian smiled faintly.
“I called the authorities before we entered.”
Panic sharpened his face.
He shoved the nearest security officer and bolted up the steps.
Harold followed.
Beatrice tried to run, but Elena grabbed her by the sleeve.
“You were going to kill me too!”
Beatrice slapped her.
Elena tackled her against the table.
Ledgers scattered across the floor. Cassette tapes rolled beneath cabinets. The old brass key slipped from Adrian’s neck when Beatrice clawed at him, and it struck the stone with a bright metallic ring.
Then a deeper sound answered from behind the far wall.
A lock released.
A concealed panel opened.
Beyond it stood a smaller room.
Inside was a steel trunk, a reel-to-reel recorder, and a chair.
On the chair sat a human skeleton.
A single bullet hole marked the center of its skull.
Harold stopped halfway up the stairs.
He turned and stared.
Adrian’s face changed.
“Daniel,” he whispered.
