“Let me grab my coat,” he said.

Ten minutes later, we were in Liam’s SUV, navigating the slick, winding roads leading away from the coast.

The windshield wipers swept back and forth, a steady, rhythmic thump against the downpour.

My mind raced with every worst-case scenario.

I pictured Chloe’s car parked at the edge of the cliffs, the dark ocean churning hundreds of feet below.

Did she jump, or was she pushed?

Or was the abandoned car just a distraction to buy Beatrice and Darrow more time?

“Darrow was always the one handling the money,” I said, staring at the headlights cutting through the fog. “If Beatrice orchestrated the fraud, Darrow was the architect.”

“My firm investigated his holdings last year,” Liam said, keeping his eyes on the road. “He has offshore accounts that make no sense for a simple consultant.”

“Do you think he paid someone to set the fire?” I asked, my skin growing cold at the thought. “Ten years ago, I thought it was just a terrible accident.”

“If he did, he left a paper trail somewhere,” Liam replied. “And Chloe must have stumbled onto it.”