My code had never been written down. Never stored digitally. Never shared with Evan.
Unless my father had.
No.
I pushed the thought away.
My father had trusted Daniel. He had trusted me.
He had never trusted Evan.
When we reached the estate, the old iron gates opened slowly, groaning in the rain. The mansion appeared beyond the trees, dark except for the east wing lights. I had not lived there since my father died. Too many memories slept in its walls.
My mother’s piano.
My father’s library.
The nursery that had never been mine, though my parents had once prepared it before years of disappointment taught them to stop hoping.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Alder, met us at the door in her robe and slippers.
“Mrs. Whitmore?” she said, alarmed. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Has anyone been here this week?”
Her eyes flickered.
That was all it took.
“Mrs. Alder.”
She lowered her voice. “Mr. Evan came three nights ago.”
Daniel stepped forward. “How did he get in?”
“He said you sent him, ma’am. He had the code.”
My hands curled into fists.
“Was he alone?”
She hesitated.
“Tell me.”
“No,” she whispered. “He brought a man with him.”
“What man?”
“I don’t know. Older. Gray hair. Very well dressed.”
Daniel and I exchanged a glance.
“Did they go to the vault?” he asked.
Mrs. Alder nodded.
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