“Chloe is a liability,” Beatrice said.

She stepped down from the gallery stairs, the match light throwing long, skeletal shadows across her face.

“She has your father’s weak constitution.”

“She wanted to go to the police, Audrey.”

“She couldn’t handle the pressure of what we had to do.”

“What you did,” Liam corrected sharply.

“You forged the signatures on the harbor project loans.”

Beatrice chuckled, a dry, grating sound that echoed off the charred rafters.

“Forged is such an ugly word, Liam.”

“I merely used the name of a woman who was too broken to use it herself.”

She took another step down, the match burning closer to her fingers.

“You were in that clinic for a year, Audrey.”

“You didn’t need your identity.”

“But the banks needed a guarantor.”

“A very wealthy, very tragic survivor of a family disaster.”

I stared at her, the pieces of the last five years suddenly locking into place.

“You kept me alive,” I whispered.

“Not out of guilt.”

“Not because you cared.”

“Of course not,” Beatrice said, her eyes gleaming.