“You’re just like your father,” he whispered. “Cold. Controlling. Always keeping the keys.”

“My father knew exactly what you were.”

He leaned closer. “Your father had secrets too.”

The room tilted slightly.

“What does that mean?”

Richard smiled, but fear flickered behind it.

“Ask yourself why he died so conveniently, Clara. Ask who benefited.”

Then he walked out.

And for the first time that day, I felt something worse than betrayal.

Doubt.

Part 3

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