Anna Moreau.
He looked at Anna.
She was crying silently now.
You do not know her by name, the letter continued. But I do. She was raised with me for several years after her mother worked in my family’s home. She has no reason to seek power. She has every reason to protect a child who cannot protect herself.
If she ever comes to you, listen to her.
And Daniel… forgive me.
The final lines blurred in his eyes.
I did not tell you everything because I wanted to protect you. But if I am gone, search the west library behind my piano scores. The truth is there.
Daniel lowered the letter.
For the first time in years, he looked truly afraid.
“What truth?” he whispered.
Clara suddenly turned toward the stairs.
“Stop her,” Daniel ordered.
Two security guards moved instantly, blocking her path.
Clara’s composed mask cracked.
“This is absurd,” she said. “You are letting a servant manipulate your grief.”
Daniel ignored her.
He looked at Anna.
“Why didn’t you give this to me sooner?”
“I tried,” Anna said, voice shaking. “The day I arrived. Mrs. Clara found me outside your study and said if I disturbed you, she would accuse me of stealing. Then Sophie started having nightmares, and I… I stayed because I promised Mrs. Whitmore I would watch over her.”
Daniel remembered then.
The nights he had buried himself in work.
The mornings Sophie looked exhausted.
The reports Clara gave him: Miss Sophie slept well, sir.
Lies.
All of it.
He turned toward the west wing.
The guests followed at a distance, drawn by the kind of drama money could not buy. Sophie held Anna’s hand. Daniel walked ahead, clutching Isabelle’s letter as if it were burning him.
They entered the west library, a room Daniel had avoided since Isabelle’s death. Her piano stood beneath the tall windows, covered in cream cloth.
Behind it, shelves of music scores lined the wall.
Daniel pulled them down one by one.
Nothing.
Then Sophie pointed.
“Mommy’s blue book.”
Daniel saw it—a faded blue music folder tucked behind the others.
Inside was a small black flash drive, a sealed legal document, and one photograph.
Daniel picked up the photograph first.
His body went still.
It showed Isabelle sitting in the garden with Anna years earlier. Younger. Smiling. Almost like sisters.
On the back, Isabelle had written:
If Daniel forgets how to trust, let Sophie remind him.
Daniel closed his eyes.
Then he opened the legal document.
His face hardened with every line.
The room held its breath.
“What is it?” Anna whispered.
Daniel looked at Clara.
“This document names Anna Moreau as Sophie’s temporary guardian if Isabelle dies under suspicious circumstances.”
Clara’s mouth opened.
Daniel’s voice turned colder.
“And it says Clara Bennett is to be removed from the estate immediately.”
A gasp swept through the library.
Clara suddenly laughed. It was not elegant now. It was sharp and ugly.
“You stupid man,” she hissed. “You built towers, bought companies, commanded rooms full of men—and never noticed what was happening in your own house.”
Daniel stepped toward her.
“What did you do?”
Clara’s eyes flashed.