The house burned for hours. By morning, it was a shell.
The family gathered in a hotel suite downtown. Marcus and Vivian, silent and shocked. Henry, pacing. Eleanor, sitting in the corner, pale and fragile.
And me, standing by the window, watching the city.
"The police are investigating," Henry said. "They think it was arson."
"Who would do this?" Vivian asked.
No one answered.
I looked at Eleanor. She looked back at me. Her eyes were sharp and knowing.
She'd won. She'd destroyed the evidence. And she'd destroyed any chance I had of getting justice for my mother.
But she'd also underestimated me.
I could still tell the truth. I could tell the police what I knew. I could tell them about Marcus and the murder and the paper trail.
It would be my word against theirs. But it would be
