The house was quiet, but I could hear the faint sound of voices from the drawing-room downstairs.

Harrison and Beatrice were still inside, likely trying to salvage what remained of their reputation.

We reached the heavy oak door of my mother’s study.

A brass plaque bearing her name, Clara Bennett, was still mounted on the wood.

I inserted the key into the lock.

It turned with a heavy, satisfying click.

The door swung open, releasing the scent of dried lavender and old paper.

The room had been left untouched, covered in a thin layer of dust.

I walked over to the mahogany writing desk near the window.

The surface was clear, save for a silver inkwell and a green leather blotter.

I knelt down and felt beneath the bottom drawer of the desk.

My fingers found a small wooden latch.

I pressed it, and a hidden compartment slid forward with a soft scraping sound.

Inside lay a thick parchment document tied with a blue silk ribbon.

I pulled it out and untied the ribbon.

The heading at the top of the page read: *The Clara Bennett Trust, Final Amendment.*