The east wing housed Alexander’s private study.

Inside that study, in the bottom drawer of the oak filing cabinet, were Eleanor’s original medical files.

They were the hard copies from the private clinic in Switzerland.

The copies that contained the chemical analysis of Eleanor’s blood from her final weeks.

If those files were destroyed, the chain of custody for the medical evidence would be broken.

Celeste knew that.

She had spent months studying the layout of this house.

“Elena,” Alexander said, his voice sharp.

“Take Ethan to the security room.”

“Lock the door from the inside.”

“No,” Ethan said, speaking for the first time.

“I want to stay with you, Dad.”

“Go with Elena, Ethan,” Alexander commanded.

He did not look back at his son. His eyes were locked on Celeste.

Celeste gave a cold, thin smile.

“It is a very large house, Alexander,” Celeste said.

“And old wood burns so quickly.”

She turned on her heel and ran toward the dark hallway.

“Celeste!” Alexander shouted.

He lunged forward, but Vivian reached out and grabbed his ankle.

She was still sobbing, desperate to hold onto him, to beg for his forgiveness.