“You’ll take your chances with the state attorney,” Liam said, grabbing Darrow by his suit jacket.

Liam led us toward the private exit behind his desk.

It was a narrow door that led to an emergency stairwell, bypassing the main lobby elevators.

The air in the hallway was cold and smelled of dust.

Our footsteps echoed softly against the concrete steps as we began our descent.

Liam held the flashlight downward, illuminating the grey steps ahead of us.

“If Beatrice wanted me dead three years ago,” Liam said quietly as we walked, “why did she wait so long to try again?”

“She didn’t have the paperwork finalized,” I said, holding onto the metal railing. “She needed the probate court to declare me dead first.”

“But you survived,” Liam said.

“Yes,” I said, my hand touching the faint scar on my neck. “I survived, and she had to spend three years hiding the money she already stole.”

Suddenly, a loud metallic clang echoed from the stairs below us.

We all froze.

The sound was heavy, like a metal door slamming shut.