Chapter 2: The Trap Is Sprung
Julian lunged for the key, but Beatrice flicked it across the room. It skidded across the floor, coming to rest at the base of the massive grandfather clock.
“It’s not for the vault, Julian,” she whispered. “It’s for the truth.”
Clara stepped forward, her laugh brittle. “You’re delusional, old woman. The key is just a piece of metal. Once we have your signature on the power of attorney, we’ll have the locksmiths crack every door in this estate.”
“You won’t have the time,” Beatrice countered. She stood up, brushing the dust from her dress with a grace that made her look ten years younger. “The girl you thought you had buried beneath this house for five years… the one you swore was a ghost… she wasn't a prisoner. She was an observer.”
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Julian’s breath hitched. “What are you talking about? The girl is dead. We settled that account years ago.”
“Did you?” Beatrice smiled—a smile that held no warmth, only the jagged edge of a trap closing shut. “You left the cellar door locked, thinking you’d silenced her. But you forgot that the house has more than one way out. You forgot that she wasn't alone in the dark. She had the one thing you both lacked: a witness.”
