“What did you do?” I whispered, looking back at the phone.

Preston leaned closer to his camera.

“I told you, Claire,” he said. “You’re sick. And nobody believes a sick woman.”

The call disconnected, leaving only the sound of our breathing in the quiet study.

Arthur looked up from his keyboard, his face pale in the green light of the lamp.

“It’s gone,” Arthur said. “They wiped my drive remotely.”

I stood frozen, the weight of the betrayal pressing down on me.

Then, the floorboards in the hallway outside the study creaked.

Arthur’s head snapped toward the door.

“I locked the front door,” Arthur whispered, slowly rising from his chair.

A heavy shadow fell across the frosted glass of the study door.

The handle slowly began to turn.

The handle clicked.

The door pushed open.

Daniel Price stood in the doorway, his overcoat damp from the sleet falling outside.

He held a black leather briefcase in his right hand, his face pale under the hallway light.

“The front lock was loose,” Daniel said, his voice low.

“Daniel,” I said, letting out a breath I had been holding. “How did you get in?”