Chapter 51: The Health Scare

The police officers didn't see me in the library. They were too focused on Richard, who was now stumbling into the hallway, his shirt stained with scotch and fear.

"Detectives?" he slurred. "Is everything alright?"

"We have a warrant, Mr. Vane," one of the officers said, holding up a piece of paper. "For the arrest of Eleanor Vane."

"My mother?" Richard laughed, a nervous, jagged sound. "Arrest her for what? Being difficult?"

"For the murder of Silas Blackwood."

I froze, my hand still gripping the heavy gilt frame of the portrait.

Silas Blackwood. Catherine’s father. The man who supposedly died in a plane crash.

"That was an accident," Richard said, the color draining from his face. "Twenty years ago."

"We received new evidence this morning," the detective said. "A sworn affidavit from the mechanic who serviced the plane. And a corroborating statement from a witness."

A witness.

I looked at my phone. No new messages. But I knew. I knew who the witness was.

Gabriel.

He hadn't just been hiding. He had been building a case. He had found the mechanic. He had found the proof.

"Where is she?" the detective demanded.

"In the dining room," Richard whispered. "Having breakfast."

The officers pushed past him. I heard the heavy thud of boots on the marble floor.

I stayed in the library, listening. I heard the clatter of silverware. A gasp.

"Mrs. Vane, you are under arrest."

"Don't touch me!" Eleanor’s voice was sharp, imperious. "Do you know who I am?"

"You have the right to remain silent..."

I peeked through the crack in the door. Eleanor was standing by the table, her face purple with rage. But she was swaying. Her hand went to her chest.

"My pills," she gasped. "I need my pills."

"Get her medication," one officer shouted.

Richard ran into the room. He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the bottle he had taken from Catherine.

He tried to hand it to her.

But Eleanor slapped it away.

"Not those, you fool!" she shrieked. "Those are for the girl!"

She clutched the table, her nails scratching against the wood.

"My heart..."

She collapsed.

It wasn't a graceful fall. She hit the floor hard, a heap of silk and malice. The officers swarmed her.

"Call an ambulance!"

I watched from the shadows. Richard was frozen, staring at his mother. He looked lost. A boy whose strings had finally been cut.

But Eleanor wasn't dead. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. And for the first time in my life, I saw something in them other than calculation.

I saw fear.

She wasn't looking at Richard. She wasn't looking at the police.

She was looking at the doorway. At me.

She raised a trembling hand, pointing a finger directly at my face.

"Her," she wheezed. "It was her."

The detectives turned.

"Mrs. Vane?" one of them asked, walking toward the library.

I stepped back. I had the safe open. I had the documents.

But I had nowhere to go.

The detective pushed the door open. He saw me standing by the fireplace. He saw the open safe.

"Step away from the wall, Ma'am."

I looked at the documents in my hand. The proof of the theft. The proof of the lies.

"I can explain," I said.

"Save it for the station," he said, reaching for his handcuffs.

"Wait!"

Richard burst into the room.

"It wasn't her," he said. "She didn't do anything."

The detective paused. "Excuse me?"

"The fraud," Richard said, his voice gaining strength. "The embezzlement. The murder. It wasn't Elena. She didn't know."

He looked at me. His eyes were clear now, the alcohol burned away by the adrenaline.

"She was just the wife," he said. "She was just the cover."

He held out his hands.

"I did it. All of it."

I stared at him. He was confessing. He was taking the fall.

For me?

Or because he knew that if I went down, I would take the Trust with me?

"Richard Vane, you are under arrest," the officer said, snapping the cuffs on his wrists.

As they led him away, he looked back at me. He didn't smile. He didn't ask for forgiveness.

He just mouthed one word.

*Run.*

I looked at Eleanor, gasping on the floor of the dining room. I looked at the safe, still open, the secrets of the Vane empire exposed to the daylight.

I grabbed the manila envelope. I grabbed the ledgers.

And I ran.

I ran out the French doors, across the terrace, and into the garden.

I didn't stop until I reached the gate.

A car was waiting. A black sedan. The window rolled down.

It was Marcus.

"Get in," he said. "The ambulance is coming. And so is Gabriel."