Epilogue.

Lexus

The passage is narrow, cold, and lined with dust that clings to the air like secrets.

Billie walks behind me, flashlight on her phone casting jagged shadows across the stone walls. My breath fogs in the dim air, but I keep moving forward until the passage opens into a small chamber. It smells of mildew, old paper, and… something else. Regret, maybe.

The room is filled with boxes. No gold. No jewelry. Just records. Stacks of folders and leather-bound journals meticulously labeled in Marissa's handwriting.

"Holy hell," Billie whispers, walking past me.

She crouches beside a wooden chest, flipping the latch. Inside—files. Dozens. One of them bears a name that stops me cold:

Penelope Greene.

The maid.

My father's mistress.