Lucian stared at the door.

The color had not returned to his face.

“He has been with my family since I was a boy,” Lucian said, his voice barely audible.

“He was my father’s most trusted man.”

“Then he was in the perfect position to do it,” I said.

I clicked on the first audio file in the folder.

It was dated three days before Elena’s death.

A soft hiss of static came from the laptop speakers.

Then, a woman’s voice filled the quiet room.

It was light, slightly breathless, but steady.

It was my mother’s voice.

I pressed my hand to my mouth, the sound of her voice hitting me like a physical blow.

“This is Dr. Vivian Vale,” the recording said.

“If anyone is listening to this, it means I have failed.”

“I am recording this from the clinic basement.”

“For three weeks, I have been treating Elena Draven for what was diagnosed as a degenerative heart condition.”

“But the symptoms do not align.”

“Yesterday, I ran a private toxicology panel on her blood samples.”

“I found trace amounts of digitalis and an unidentified organic compound.”