Chapter 246

Eileen's POV

I handed Silas the sealed vial, my fingers still trembling slightly from last night's close call. "This is what the butler almost drank."

He held it up to the morning light streaming through the study windows. The liquid inside looked innocuous—clear as water. But I knew better.

"Suffocation vine extract," Silas said quietly, his gray-blue eyes narrowing. "Same compound that killed Evelyn."

My stomach twisted. Hearing him confirm it made everything feel more real. More dangerous.

Gavin leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "But it only proves Emilia tried to poison the butler. It doesn't prove she killed Serena."

I pressed my back against the edge of the desk, trying to steady myself. "Evelyn's voice recorder was destroyed. The butler's 'delirium' can be dismissed as fever dreams..."

The words tasted bitter. We were so close. So fucking close to the truth, and yet—

"We need more," I said, looking between Silas and Gavin. "Something undeniable."

Silas started pacing. I'd learned to recognize this—the way he moved when his mind was working through a problem. Predatory. Calculating.

"We need to make Emilia confess," he said finally. "Or expose herself in front of witnesses."

My pulse quickened. "You mean... set a trap?"

"Not just a trap." He stopped, turning to face me. The intensity in his gaze made my breath catch. "A situation where she has no choice but to reveal herself. Where she can't talk her way out or hide behind plausible deniability."

Gavin straightened, interested now. "We'd need something she can't ignore. Something that forces her hand."

I felt Moby shift in my pocket. The little slime's tentacles poked out, waving toward the window. I followed his gesture and saw Grandfather Marcus walking alone in the courtyard below.

An idea sparked. Dangerous. Potentially cruel. But necessary.

"Evelyn was paranoid enough to record everything," I said slowly. "If she had evidence—"

"She wouldn't have kept only one copy," Silas finished, his eyes lighting with understanding.

Gavin was already pulling out his tablet. "Evelyn's apartment after her release is still under our surveillance. The Goode family collected her personal belongings and stored them in a warehouse."

My heart was racing now. "If we spread word that we've found where Evelyn might have hidden backup recordings—"

"Emilia will think it's the only remaining evidence of her crime," Silas said. "She'll have to destroy it."

The plan was taking shape. But there was a problem.

I moved to the window, watching my grandfather's slow, tired steps. The morning mist clung to the ground, making him look almost ghostly.

"She's too careful," I said. "She won't believe ordinary gossip. The source has to be someone she trusts completely."

I turned back to face them. "Someone she'd never suspect of lying to her."

Moby's tentacles pointed insistently at the window again. At Grandfather.

Silas came to stand beside me. "You're sure you want to involve Marcus? He's Emilia's father."

Was I sure? I looked down at the old man in the courtyard. He looked so tired. So worn down by recent events.

But I thought of my mother. Of Serena, abandoned in that laboratory while toxic fumes filled her lungs. Of Evelyn, murdered to keep secrets buried. Of the butler, who'd almost died last night.

"If Emilia did what we think she did," I said quietly, "then Grandfather deserves to know. He deserves the chance to help bring her to justice."

Or to save her, if somehow we were wrong. Though I knew in my gut we weren't.

Silas's hand found mine, warm and solid. "Then let's go talk to him."

---

The morning air was cool against my face as we stepped into the courtyard. Grandfather was examining the late-blooming roses near the fountain, his silver hair catching the weak sunlight.

"Grandfather," I called softly.

He turned, and I saw the exhaustion etched deep in his features. The past few days had aged him.

"Eileen." He managed a small smile. "You're up early."

"I need your help with something." I moved closer, Silas a steady presence at my back. "It's important."

Something in my tone made him straighten. "What's wrong?"

God, where did I even start?

"I think..." I swallowed hard. "I have reason to believe Emilia was involved in Evelyn's death."

The color drained from his face. "What?"

"Last night, someone tried to poison the butler." I pulled out my phone, showing him the photos I'd taken of the water glass, the analysis results. "The same compound that killed Evelyn."

His hands shook as he took the phone. I watched his face as he read, saw the moment comprehension hit. The moment a father's worst fear became reality.

"No," he whispered. "No, Emilia wouldn't—"

"There's more." I hated doing this. Hated watching his world crumble. "The butler was delirious with fever. He said things. About the night Mother died."

Grandfather's eyes met mine. "What things?"

I told him everything. About the laboratory. About Serena calling for help. About someone taking research notes and running.

About Emilia being there that night.

He sank onto the stone bench beside the fountain. For a long moment, he just stared at the water, watching it cascade and sparkle in the morning light.

"I should have known," he said finally, voice rough. "After Serena died, Emilia changed. She became... harder. More ambitious. I thought it was grief. I thought—" His voice broke.

I knelt in front of him, taking his weathered hands in mine. They felt so fragile.

"I need you to help me prove it," I said gently. "Or disprove it, if I'm wrong. But we need the truth."

"How?" He looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. "How can I help?"

I explained the plan. About the supposed backup recordings. About needing him to mention it casually to Emilia, as if he'd overheard servants gossiping.

"If she's innocent, she won't react," I said. "But if she's guilty—"

"She'll try to destroy the evidence." He closed his eyes. "My own daughter."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry to ask this of you."

He was silent for so long I thought he might refuse. Then he opened his eyes and looked at me—really looked at me—and I saw Serena in his gaze. The same determination. The same core of steel beneath gentleness.

"Serena was my favorite," he said quietly. "Everyone knew it. I tried to hide it, but..." He shook his head. "She had such light in her. Such pure desire to heal, to help. And I failed to protect her."

His grip on my hands tightened.

"If Emilia did this—if she let her own sister die—then she needs to face justice." His voice hardened. "Even if she's my daughter. Especially because she's my daughter."

Relief and sadness warred in my chest. "Thank you."

"When do you need me to do this?"

Silas stepped forward. "Today, if possible. The longer we wait, the more time she has to cover her tracks."

Grandfather nodded slowly. He looked older than his seventy-eight years. "I'll do it."

He stood, and I rose with him. For a moment, he just looked at me, and I saw tears gathering in his eyes.

"You look so much like her," he said softly. "Like Serena. Same fire. Same stubborn refusal to let injustice stand."

He pulled me into a hug. I felt him trembling.