A crackle of static filled the quiet ballroom.

Then, a voice drifted from the speaker, thin and trembling but unmistakably my mother’s.

“Richard, I know what you did with the foundation accounts,” she said.

The recording was faint, background wind chimes clinking softly from her garden patio.

“I found the duplicate ledgers in your study, and I cannot let you destroy Claire’s future to cover your debts.”

I closed my eyes, the sound of her voice hitting me like a physical blow.

“If anything happens to me, Eleanor has the originals,” Margaret’s voice continued, growing weaker. “You cannot hide this forever.”

The audio ended with a sharp click.

My father’s face drained of color, his hand shaking as he gripped the edge of the nearest table.

“That is a forgery,” Richard whispered, his voice cracking. “A cheap digital fabrication.”

“It isn’t a forgery, Richard,” Eleanor Price said, her voice steady as she walked toward him.

Her wet shoes squeaked against the polished marble floor of the ballroom.

She placed the faded wooden box on the white linen tablecloth, right next to a towering crystal vase of white roses.