“Yes, I remember you barely,” I replied, trying to regain my composure. “I met you a few times when we were all very young.”
She studied my face intently for a moment. “What exactly did Charles tell you about what happened back then?”
“He said your brother Christopher ruined their firm,” I explained, trying to recall the old story. “He claimed Christopher made reckless financial decisions and lost every single penny they built.”
Beatrice’s sharp expression barely changed as she listened to my explanation. “Is that really the tragic story he sold to you?”
“He told me Christopher ruined everything,” I insisted desperately. “Charles was completely devastated by it, and he grieved deeply for Christopher and for you after telling me you both had passed away.”
Beatrice stepped backward into her hallway and swung the wooden door wider open. “You had better come inside right now,” she said calmly.
I remained completely still on the porch steps. “If you were not dead all this time,” I said, “then why was Charles sending you rent money every single month for twenty-seven years?”
“You came all the way here thinking I was his secret mistress, didn’t you?” she asked directly.
