They were painting a picture of a shadow living in my house.

But they did not know the truth.

They did not know why she was really there.

At 2:00 AM, my phone buzzed again.

It was Ruth, the head housekeeper.

“Mr. Whitmore,” Ruth said, her voice low and worried.

“Two men from the corporate office are here at the house.”

“They are asking to search Claire’s room.”

“Did you let them in?” I asked, my grip tightening on the phone.

“No, sir,” Ruth said. “I told them they needed a warrant.”

“But they said they are coming back with the board’s lawyers.”

“Keep the door locked, Ruth,” I said. “Don’t let them touch her things.”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” she said.

I hung up, my blood running cold.

They were desperate to find something they could use to discredit her.

I looked at Claire.

She had fallen into a restless sleep, her head turning from side to side.

Her brow was furrowed, and she mumbled in her sleep.

“Don’t take them,” she muttered.

I stood up and walked to her side, gently placing my hand over hers.