“This is business,” Hayes said. “Your father understood that. He knew the risks.”

“And you put the poison in Madison’s tea?” I asked, raising my voice to make sure the microphone caught the words.

“It was a mild paralytic,” Hayes said, taking a step closer. “Just enough to keep her in bed while we cleared the estate of any records. She wasn’t supposed to die.”

“But she almost did,” I said. “And you planned to frame it as an accidental overdose.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Hayes said, lifting his weapon slightly. “The paperwork is in my hand. The truck is at the gate.”

One click. Two clicks. Three clicks.

I counted the silent rotations of the dial against my thumb.

My mother watched me, her eyes darting to my hand behind my back, then back to my face.

She didn’t say a word, but she shifted her body to block Hayes’s view of my arm.

“We have to go, Marcus,” my father said, looking at the security monitors. “The gate cameras are showing headlights at the bottom of the hill.”

Hayes turned his head toward the monitors.