“No relatives.”
She opened the folder.
Inside was a handwritten purchase offer for the Mercer family estate—the vast mansion where Beatrice had grown up and where Daniel had first met her.
The buyer’s signature was familiar.
Elena Voss.
I stared at it.
“How?”
“She received a witness-compensation settlement and wrote a book under a pseudonym.”
Marian smiled.
“It sold extremely well.”
I began to laugh.
Not delicately.
Not politely.
I laughed until tears filled my eyes.
Elena had purchased Beatrice’s childhood home and converted it into a recovery center for women escaping coercive relationships.
On the brass plaque outside, she had placed a single sentence:
YOU ARE NOT USEFUL. YOU ARE HUMAN.
That evening, I walked alone through my garden.
The air smelled of jasmine. Through the windows, I could see Celeste setting the table while Adrian argued with the oven.
