He carried a leather briefcase that looked as tired and worn as he did.

“Thomas,” Nathaniel Vale said, his voice steady in the quiet room.

Bennett did not look at Nathaniel.

His eyes went straight to Miranda, who stood frozen behind the mahogany desk.

“You should have left things alone, Miranda,” Bennett said, his voice trembling slightly.

Miranda did not answer right away.

She gripped the edge of the desk so hard her knuckles turned the color of chalk.

“What is the meaning of this?” she whispered.

“I told you to stay in Florida, Thomas,” she added, her voice rising.

“I couldn’t live with it anymore,” Bennett said.

He stepped further into the library, his wet shoes leaving dark prints on the Persian rug.

“My conscience has been a heavy companion,” he said.

He set his briefcase on the small table near the door and unlatched it.

The brass snaps made a sharp, metallic sound in the quiet room.

Julian watched him closely, his phone still recording every movement.

“Who is this man, Mother?” Julian asked.

Miranda did not look at her son.