It was Trevor’s messy, slanted print.

The note read: *Vance maintenance fee. Keep him quiet. No family contact.*

My hands began to tremble so violently that the heavy book almost slipped from my grasp.

“Emily?” Charles called out, his eyes locked on me. “What is it?”

“My father,” I whispered.

The room went completely silent, save for the howling wind outside.

“What about him?” Charles asked, his grip tightening on Lawrence’s arm.

“He’s there,” I said, my voice cracking. “He’s at Whispering Pines.”

I stared at the page, the ink blurring before my eyes.

“The payments are current,” I said, looking up at Charles. “The last one was made three weeks ago.”

“That’s impossible,” Marcus said from the floor. “Arthur died in the fire at the old warehouse. Everyone knows that.”

“They lied,” I said, a sudden wave of heat washing through my cold limbs. “They wanted everyone to think he was dead so the investigation would stop.”

Lawrence let out a low, mocking laugh from the floor.

“You think you can just walk in there and get him?” Lawrence sneered. “That place is a fortress. You won’t even make it up the mountain road in this weather.”