I turned to the two guards waiting by the heavy entrance door.

“Stay here,” I said. “Do not let anyone else inside.”

They both nodded, their hands resting on their holstered weapons.

I walked down the stone aisle, my boots clicking rhythmically against the floor.

“It is over, Rachel,” I said, stopping a few feet from her.

Rachel stood up, clenching her hands into fists against the fabric of her skirt.

“You ruined everything,” she said, her voice rising. “You brought the King. You brought the guards.”

“You ruined this yourself when you built a life on a foundation of lies,” I said.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my digital recorder.

“I found Father’s old dictaphone in his study before I left Virginia,” I said.

Rachel stiffened, her eyes locking onto the small black device in my hand.

“He recorded his phone calls in his final days, Rachel,” I said.

I pressed the play button.

A soft hiss of static filled the cold chapel.

Then, William Carter’s raspy voice came through the small speaker.