Chapter 6 - Claire refused to believe it.There had to be an explanation.

Forgery.

Identity theft.

A shell company.

Anything.

Anything except the possibility that her father had never actually died.

But Adrian didn't dismiss it.

That frightened her more.

By sunrise, Marcus had obtained records from the Massachusetts registry.

The clinic existed.

Its ownership was real.

The signature matched Thomas Bennett's.

The bank account was active.

Taxes had been filed.

A medical license had been renewed.

Claire stared at the documents.

“No.”

Adrian stood beside her.

“My father had a funeral.”

“I know.”

“I saw his body.”

Adrian looked at her.

“Did you?”

She froze.

“Yes.”

“Was the casket open?”

“No.”

“Did you identify him?”

Claire's lips parted.

Her mother had.

Claire had been too broken to attend the identification.

The funeral had happened quickly.

Three days after his supposed death.

She had never questioned it.

Because grief had made questions impossible.

Adrian's voice softened.

“I'm sorry.”

Claire pushed the papers away.

“Don't.”

“I wasn't trying to hurt you.”

“You're making me question everything.”

“That may be exactly what someone wants.”

Claire looked at him.

“Who?”

“We don't know.”

“And Rebecca?”

“Same question.”

They left the estate at noon under heavy security.

Lily remained with a trusted housekeeper.

The clinic stood in a quiet Cambridge street.

From the outside, it looked abandoned.

But there were fresh footprints in the snow.

Marcus noticed them first.

“Someone's here.”

Adrian pulled his gun.

Claire's heart raced.

They entered.

The smell hit her first.

Antiseptic.

Old wood.

Her father's perfume.

Claire stopped breathing.

“This was his office.”

She stepped inside.

Everything looked familiar.

His bookshelf.

His desk.

Even the small brass lamp he had kept for twenty years.

She touched it.

Dust covered everything.

Except one drawer.

The drawer was clean.

Claire opened it.

Inside sat a silver key.

The same kind her father had warned her about.

Her fingers trembled.

“There.”

Adrian leaned closer.

“What does it open?”

“I don't know.”

She remembered his voice.

If anyone ever asks about the Mercers, tell them you know nothing.

Now she understood.

Her father had known Adrian.

He had known Rebecca.

And someone had wanted all three of them silent.

Marcus checked the hallway.

“Sir.”

Adrian turned.

“There are fresh tire tracks behind the building.”

They rushed outside.

A black SUV accelerated away.

Adrian gave chase.

The vehicle disappeared around a corner.

Marcus swore.

Then Claire noticed something on the snow.

A small envelope.

Her name again.

Inside was a single sentence.

ASK ADRIAN WHAT HAPPENED THE NIGHT REBECCA DIED.

Claire slowly looked at him.

Adrian's face closed.

“Don't.”

“What happened?”

“Not here.”

“You knew this would happen.”

“Claire.”

“You've been lying to me.”

“I've been protecting you.”

“Those aren't the same thing.”

Her voice cracked.

Adrian stepped toward her.

“I didn't kill Rebecca.”

“I didn't ask whether you killed her.”

He stopped.

“I asked what happened.”

Silence.

Finally he said:

“She called me that night.”

Claire stared.

“What did she say?”

Adrian's eyes darkened.

“She said she had discovered who was betraying our family.”

“Who?”

“I never found out.”

“Why?”

“Because before she could tell me, the line went dead.”

Claire whispered:

“And then she died.”

“Yes.”

“What were her last words?”

Adrian looked directly at her.

“She said your father's name.”

Claire felt the world tilt.

“What?”

Adrian's voice dropped.

“Rebecca's last words to me were…”

He swallowed.

“Thomas Bennett knows.”

A car horn screamed nearby.

Marcus turned.

A van was speeding toward them.

“MOVE!”

Adrian grabbed Claire.

The van swerved.

A gunman leaned out the window.

Three shots exploded.

One struck the clinic door.

One shattered the window.

The third hit Adrian.

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Claire screamed.

He collapsed into her arms.