“But it does not give you the dates.”

“It does not give you the names of the chemical substances.”

“Or the medical records that the clinic kept hidden from you.”

Alexander’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing.

“What medical records?” he asked.

“Eleanor’s records were destroyed in the hospital fire five years ago.”

“The clinic said there were no duplicates.”

I took a slow breath, remembering the cold metal box I had hidden so carefully.

“They lied to you, sir,” I said.

“And the person who paid them to lie is in this house.”

“The proof is still here.”

“I have kept Eleanor’s private diary from those last months.”

“Along with the toxicological lab reports she smuggled out of the clinic before she died.”

“They are locked away where no one could find them.”

A sudden, sharp metallic bang rattled the walls of the dining room.

The floorboards vibrated beneath our feet.

It sounded like someone was trying to force open the service entrance on the ground floor.

“Sir,” Marcus’s voice crackled through Alexander’s phone speaker again.

“We have movement on the south terrace.”