Chapter 3: The Vault of Echoes
The air in the room grew heavy. Martha’s smile didn't fade, but it stopped reaching her eyes. "What are you talking about?"
Arthur pulled out his phone. He didn't just play a video of tonight. He pulled up a folder labeled ‘Legacy’.
The screen flickered to life. It showed the kitchen, three months ago. Martha was there, consulting with a doctor who looked remarkably like a disgraced chemist. The audio was crisp—the promise of a slow-acting toxin, the discussion of the life insurance payout, the laughter shared over the prospect of a "tragic, natural passing."
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Then the footage jumped: six months ago. Martha in the study, altering Arthur’s will. Then two years ago, in the boathouse, rigging the engine of his yacht.
Martha’s face went white. She tried to lunge for the phone, but Arthur caught her wrist with a grip like steel. "You thought you were the master of this fortune, Martha. You didn't realize you were just a lab rat in a long-term psychological study."
