He turned and stared.
Adrian’s face changed.
“Daniel,” he whispered.
Daniel Vale had been Adrian’s younger brother.
My uncle.
Officially, he had vanished two weeks after the aircraft crash.
Beatrice’s struggle ceased.
Harold’s knees buckled.
And Julian, standing at the top of the stairs, looked down at his father.
“You told me he ran away.”
Harold began to cry.
Not softly.
Not with remorse.
He cried like a man whose buried crimes had finally learned how to breathe.
“Your mother pulled the trigger,” he said.
PART 6 — THE FAMILY THAT BUILT ITS FORTUNE ON A BODY
Beatrice did not deny it.
She straightened her torn blouse, wiped blood from the corner of her mouth, and looked at the skeleton with irritation rather than horror.
“He was going to expose us.”
