Claire thought Vanessa was only her husband’s mistress—until she discovered the two women had been discussing something far more dangerous.

The rain was a deafening roar in the dark trees as Claire ran blindly back toward the main house.

Her feet were cut and bleeding from sharp rocks, her lungs burning with every breath, but the sheer terror pumping through her veins kept her moving. She couldn't take the main drive—Daniel's security cars were cruising the long asphalt road, their yellow headlights sweeping across the thick woods every few minutes.

She had only one place to go.

If something happens to me, look behind the radiator in the north hall of the main house.

The north hall was the oldest part of the manor—a drafty, disused corridor on the ground floor that led to the servants' quarters and the old cellar. If Eleanor was telling the truth, the evidence that could tear the Whitmore family apart was hidden inside those walls.

Claire reached the rear terrace of the manor, crouching behind the heavy stone pillars.

The French doors were locked, but a small window near the pantry had been left unlatched by the caterers. Claire pulled herself up onto the ledge, her silk dress tearing completely at the waist, and squirmed through the narrow opening, dropping onto the cool linoleum floor of the kitchen.

The house was dead silent.

The party guests were long gone. The ballroom was dark, the chandeliers dimmed to a soft, orange amber.

Claire crept out of the kitchen, her bare, dirty feet making no sound on the heavy Persian rugs lining the main corridor. She skirted past the grand staircase and slipped through a heavy velvet drape into the north hall.

The north hall was dark and narrow, illuminated only by the faint silver moonlight coming through a high, narrow window at the far end. The air here was noticeably colder, carrying the faint reek of damp stone and old wood.

At the end of the hall, resting beneath a faded oil painting of Daniel’s grandfather, was a heavy, cast-iron Victorian radiator, painted dull black.

Claire dropped to her knees in front of it.

The iron was freezing to the touch. She reached behind the dark, narrow gaps of the iron coils, her fingers sweeping across decades of dust, spiderwebs, and peeling paint.

Nothing.

"Come on," Claire whimpered, her tears cutting clean lines through the dirt on her face. "Come on, Emma... where is it?"

She pushed her hand deeper, reaching near the floorboard behind the central pipe.

Her fingers touched something hard, flat, and wrapped in thick, sealed plastic.

Claire pulled it out.

It was a heavy, yellowed legal envelope, sealed with red wax. Printed across the front in dark black lettering was the seal of the City District Attorney’s Office, dated six years ago.

Before she could break the seal, a soft snap sounded behind her.

The overhead lights in the north hall flickered on, blinding her with a harsh, yellow glare.

Claire gasped, scrambling backward against the radiator, shoving the envelope behind her back.

Standing at the top of the narrow staircase leading up to the main hall was Daniel.

He was wearing his black topcoat, his dark hair damp from the rain outside. In his right hand, he held a sleek, black leather briefcase. In his left hand, he held a heavy, silver keycard.