He flinched slightly at the mention of his mother.

“She told me about it when I was twelve,” I continued.

I looked toward the brick fireplace in the corner of the room.

“She said she wanted to make sure the family history was safe from people who only saw dollar signs.”

Mark followed my gaze to the fireplace.

His grip on the poker loosened slightly.

“The bricks,” he muttered.

“Not the bricks,” I said, bluffing. “The hearthstone itself.”

He turned his body toward the fireplace, his attention shifting.

“You’re lying to save your skin,” he said.

“Check it yourself,” I said. “Look at the left side of the gray stone.”

He took two steps toward the fireplace, then stopped.

He looked back at me, his eyes full of suspicion.

“If you’re lying to me, Alana, you will regret it,” he said.

“I have nothing left to fear from you, Mark,” I said.

He sneered.

“You always were a weak little girl,” he said.

He knelt down in front of the fireplace, placing the strongbox on the hearth.

He began to examine the gray stones with his fingers, searching for a loose seam.