Chapter 52

In my car, I reviewed the recording. Not as revealing as I'd hoped, but John's uncharacteristic behavior was telling. Someone was guiding him, someone intelligent enough to anticipate my moves.

As I was leaving the estate, my phone rang. Mary's name flashed on the screen, surprising me as she invited me to meet at Uptown Coffee.

When I arrived, Mary was already seated in a corner booth, looking like the picture of demure innocence in a simple black dress, her hands folded neatly on the table. A steaming cup of coffee sat in front of my empty seat.

"I took the liberty of ordering for you," she smiled. "You like black coffee with one sugar."

"Thank you," I replied, making no move to touch the cup. I signaled a passing waiter. "I'll have a latte, please. Fresh."

Mary's smile faltered slightly. "Don't you trust me, Jane?"

"Should I?" I countered, settling into my seat. "After everything that's happened?"

Mary leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Last night you mentioned a substantial payment in exchange for information. Is that offer still valid?"

I instantly realized what was happening. Mary was trying to get me on record offering a bribe for testimony.

"I believe you're the one who just mentioned payment," I replied smoothly. "I'm only here because you asked to meet."

"But last night, you said..."

"What exactly did I say?" I interrupted her. "Please help me remember."

Mary hesitated, thrown off by my refusal to take the bait. "You suggested that if I told you what I know about Uncle William's involvement, you could make it worth my while."

"Did I say that?" I let my gaze drift to her purse, where the outline of a recording device was barely visible. "Are you recording our conversation, Mary?"

Her expression revealed nothing, but the slight stiffening of her shoulders told me I'd hit the mark. They were trying to gather ammunition against me.

"I just want to understand what you want from me," Mary said, admirably regaining her composure.

The waiter arrived with my latte, and I took a slow sip, using the moment to study her. "What I want is the truth. My father is innocent. You know that. John knows that. Yet here we are, with my father in jail while the real killer walks free."

"Your father was found at the scene, his fingerprints on the knife," Mary countered.

"Because Robert put them there," I said flatly. "With his dying act, he framed my father to protect the real killer. The question is why?"

For the first time, uncertainty flickered across Mary's face. She glanced at her watch and suddenly stood up. "I should go."

"Running back to report that your trap failed?" I asked pleasantly.

Mary revealed a flash of anger beneath her docile exterior. "You're trying to manipulate evidence to free your father. You're not interested in justice."

"I came to this meeting at your invitation," I reminded her. "You're the one who brought up payment. Interesting how that worked out, isn't it?"

She gathered her purse, clearly realizing she'd been outmaneuvered. "Goodbye, Jane."

I watched her leave, contemplating my next move. I had recordings of both conversations, obviously not enough to free my father, but potentially useful in court to challenge their testimony.

---

**John's POV**

After Jane left, Lucy carefully put down her glass. "I need you to tell me exactly what happened that night. The night your father died."

"We've been through this," I replied, struggling to keep my tone even. "I was in my room the entire night. I didn't see anything."

She approached me with unexpected speed, her nails digging into my arm. "Don't lie to me! Jane just said some things about Mary..."

A chill ran through my body. "What did she say?"

"That Mary isn't the innocent angel we believe her to be. That she might have... influenced you." Mother's eyes searched mine desperately. "Is it true? Did Mary say something to you that night?"

I pulled away from her grip, "I don't remember much," I mumbled, closing my eyes as memories from that night flooded back.

That night I had been drinking with some friends at the club. We'd had too much.

When I got home, I noticed Mary's bedroom door was ajar. I saw her wrapped in nothing but a bath towel, her hair still wet from the shower.

I shouldn't have gone in. But drunk and frustrated, I pushed the door open.

I remember mumbling something, then stumbling toward her. I grabbed her shoulders, pushing her down onto the bed. I expected her to scream, to fight back. But she didn't. Instead, she looked up at me with those calculating eyes of hers.

"Brother," she said softly, not struggling at all. "You've been drinking again. Did you lose more money?"

I released her, suddenly ashamed. "What's it to you?"

She sat up, adjusting her towel. "I'm worried about you. Father will be angry."

The mention of Father ignited my anger. "He always says I'm a disappointment. A waste."

Mary's expression softened with what looked like sympathy. "He always says that, doesn't he? No matter how hard you try."

I slumped onto the edge of her bed, the alcohol making my emotions raw. "He never gives me a chance. He thinks I'm worthless."

"You're not," Mary said, her voice gentle. "You could run the company better than he ever has. If only he'd give you the opportunity."

I laughed bitterly. "That will never happen. He'll never trust me with anything important."

Mary moved closer, her hand on my shoulder. "I know you have ambitions, John. Real ambitions. It's all Father's fault you can't realize them."

Her words resonated with something deep inside me. "He never believed in me. Not once."

"Because he's afraid," she whispered. "Afraid you'd do better than him. That's why he keeps you dependent, begging for scraps."

Each word she spoke was like gasoline on the fire of my resentment. Years of being belittled, overlooked, denied opportunities—all these thoughts came rushing back.

"As long as Father is alive," she continued, her voice hypnotic, "you'll never be anything but a disappointment. A gambler. A drunk. You'll always be at his mercy, begging for money..."

Something snapped inside me. I stood up, my vision tunneling until all I could see was red. "No more," I growled.

I don't remember clearly what happened next. I stormed out of Mary's room, my mind consumed with rage. In the hallway, I grabbed that antique knife from the decorative display and rushed into Robert's study.

What followed is a blur of motion and emotion. Shouting. The knife in my hand. Father's surprised expression turning to understanding, then to a strange resignation as he fell.

"John?" Mother's voice pulled me back to the present. "What did Mary say to you?"

I blinked, focusing on her worried face. "Nothing important. She just... listened to me complain about Father."

"Don't lie to me," Mother hissed. "Jane thinks Mary manipulated you somehow. She... encouraged you."

I felt a surge of protective anger. "That's ridiculous! Mary has always been the only one who understood me, who believed in me. Jane is trying to divide us."

"If there's something I need to know..."

"There's nothing!" I shouted, my composure finally breaking. "Jane is desperately trying to save her father by casting suspicion on us. She's the threat, not Mary!"

I turned and ran to find Mary. I needed to warn her about Jane's visit.

Now Mary is my salvation, my guide. The only one who truly believes in me. Without her, how would I handle the police, the questioning, the strategy.