The storm outside was growing stronger, rain lashing against the stone walls.

Ethan looked back at his laptop screen.

The blue light reflected in his eyes, making them look cold.

“My father didn’t have a heart attack,” Ethan said.

“He was murdered.”

I did not answer.

The word hung in the air between us, heavy and terrifying.

“I need to see those files,” Ethan said, standing up quickly.

“Where did my father keep his personal legal documents?”

“He had a safe in the cellar,” I said.

“Behind the wine racks in the old vault.”

“Did he give you the code?” Ethan asked.

“No,” I said.

“But he gave my grandmother a key.”

“She keeps it in her sewing box,” I said.

Ethan turned toward the kitchen hallway.

“We need to get it,” he said.

Just then, the lights in the hallway flickered.

They buzzed once, twice, and then went completely dark.

The only light left was the glowing screen of the laptop.

Then, the security alarm system near the front door began to beep.

It was a steady, warning tone that meant the outer perimeter gate had been opened.