Ryker turned the paper toward me, pointing to the scanned name.

“It’s Clara Vale’s signature,” Ryker said.

“But the date of the signature is two days after she was reportedly forced out of the state by Marissa.”

“So Clara was there,” I said.

“She knows the truth about how Arthur died.”

Suddenly, the security monitor on the wall let out a sharp, high-pitched beep.

The red light began to flash rapidly.

On the screen, the iron gates were swinging open.

Someone had overridden the security system.

A second vehicle, a black SUV with tinted windows, was driving through the entrance.

Ryker grabbed his phone, his face pale.

“Who opened the gate?” he demanded.

Before Marco could answer, the heavy front doors of the house creaked open.

A draft of cold air rushed down the hallway, blowing the papers on the desk.

I stood up, my eyes fixed on the study door.

The sound of footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor of the foyer.

I held my breath, my hand gripping the cold edge of the mahogany desk.