Vanessa did not comfort her; she simply walked out and locked the heavy door from the outside.

Nathan’s hand shook so hard he nearly dropped the phone.

“You shut off their heat,” Nathan said, his voice dangerously low.

“That’s a lie,” Vanessa stammered, backing away toward the stone fireplace.

“That video is doctored.”

“Claire’s system doesn’t lie,” Nathan said.

Another file opened automatically on Nathan’s screen.

This one showed Vanessa and Julian sitting in the study, drinking red wine.

“If we keep the girls isolated, Nathan will lose his mind,” Vanessa said on the recording.

“He’ll do something reckless, and we’ll file for emergency custody,” Julian replied on the tape, leaning back.

“With his history of depression after Claire’s death, the judge will hand over the trust funds in a week.”

The recording was crystal clear, captured by the pinhole camera Claire had hidden in the mantel clock.

Claire had known.

Even as she was dying in the hospital, she had foreseen what Vanessa would try to do.

She had built this house to be a fortress for her daughters, and a trap for their enemies.