“Because you were hiding them,” Arthur said.

Eleanor began to cry quietly, pulling a lace handkerchief from her purse.

“Please,” she sobbed. “There must be some mistake. Derek would never do this.”

“He did do it, Mother,” Arthur said, his voice heavy with disappointment. “It is all right here.”

The door to the kitchen opened, and Chef Laura stepped out, holding a silver tray with four small porcelain bowls.

She stopped when she saw the tension in the room, her eyes darting from Arthur to Derek.

“Excuse me,” Laura said quietly. “The first course is ready.”

“We will be a few minutes, Laura,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

“Of course,” she said, her voice neutral.

She turned and retreated back into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind her.

Derek looked at me, his eyes filled with a cold, burning hatred.

“You think you have won,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

“This isn’t a game, Derek,” I said.

“You have destroyed my life,” he said, taking another step toward me.

“You did that yourself,” I said.

Arthur stepped between us, his large frame blocking Derek’s path.