It was an incoming call from Warren Bellamy.

The screen glowed bright blue in the dark boat.

I stared at the name on the screen.

“Is that Warren?” Caroline asked, her voice cracking.

“Yes,” I said.

I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the green button.

The river current carried us deeper into the dark.

I swiped the screen and put the phone to my ear.

“Clara,” Warren’s voice came through, calm and cold.

“I know you have the ledger,” he said.

“But you don’t know the whole story yet,” he said.

“And if you don’t bring it to my office in twenty minutes, your aunt’s signature on the transfer deed will become public.”

I looked at Caroline.

She was watching me, her eyes wide with terror in the dim light.

“What signature?” I asked Warren.

“The one she signed five years ago,” Warren said. “The one that proves she knew about the graves all along.”

“That’s a lie,” I said, but my voice shook.

“Ask her yourself,” Warren replied. “Or better yet, check the next page in the ledger.”

I lowered the phone slightly, keeping the line open.