“If you died in the fire five years ago, the estate would have gone into probate.”

“The creditors would have stripped everything.”

“But a living, recovering niece?”

“A niece whose signatures I could easily replicate while she lay heavily sedated?”

“That was worth millions.”

“You used my recovery to secure the loans,” I said, a cold wave of realization washing over me.

“Precisely,” Beatrice said.

“And now, the bank audits are coming.”

“They are asking questions I cannot answer.”

“And Liam’s private investigators are digging too deep.”

She shifted her grip on the jerrycan, tilting it slightly.

A thin stream of clear liquid splashed onto the bottom step.

“So now, the tragic survivor must finally succumb to her injuries,” Beatrice said.

“A tragic accident.”

“A faulty heater in an old charity hall.”

“And Chloe?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“She will be the unfortunate bystander who tried to save you,” Beatrice said.

“The grieving mother will inherit what is left of the trust, free of your meddling.”

Liam took a slow step to the left, trying to draw her gaze away from me.