He Gave Me Two Slices of Cake and Told Me to Leave—Then I Revealed What His Father Had Left Me

I read Marcus's message three times.

*Come back to the mansion tonight. Alone. I'll tell you who was with Dad when he died.*

Then I read the second message.

*And Clara, if you care about what happened to him, don't trust Chloe.*

Chloe sat across from me in Mr. Bennett's office, staring at the unfinished message on her phone. Her hands were shaking so badly that she had to place the device on the desk.

"He's going to blame me," she whispered.

I watched her carefully.

"Has Marcus blamed you for things before?""

She gave a bitter little laugh.

"Clara, Marcus has been blaming other people for his mistakes since we were children.""

Mr. Bennett closed the folder containing Arthur's recordings.

"Neither of you should meet him alone. We have evidence of unauthorized financial transactions, and now we have a possible attempt to interfere with a witness.""

"I have to go," I said.

The attorney frowned.

"Absolutely not.""

"I'm not going to confront him without protection. But if Marcus knows something about Arthur's final hours, I need to hear it.""

"Then let the police ask him.""

"And what if he refuses to speak? What if the person who took Arthur's phone is still destroying evidence?""

Mr. Bennett studied me for a long moment.

"I can arrange for an investigator to accompany you. You will not enter the house alone, and you will not sign anything he presents.""

I nodded.

Chloe suddenly reached across the desk and grabbed my hand.

"Please don't go back for me," she said.

"Whatever Marcus tells you, don't let him make you think you owe me anything.""

I looked down at her fingers.

Six years ago, when Chloe's fiancé had ended their engagement, she had arrived at my bedroom in the middle of the night with mascara running down her face. I had held her until sunrise.

She had called me the sister she never had.

Last night, she had watched me being humiliated and done nothing.

Now she was frightened enough to tell the truth.

"I won't go back for you," I said.

"I'll go back for Arthur.""

Her fingers loosened.

"And if the truth hurts you, Chloe, you'll have to face it.""

She nodded.

For the first time, she didn't ask me to comfort her.

That evening, I returned to the mansion with a private investigator named Simon Hale waiting in a car across the street. Mr. Bennett had instructed me to keep my phone recording and leave immediately if Marcus became threatening.

I agreed to everything.

But I carried something else with me.

Arthur's handwritten note.

Ask him where the money went.

The front door opened before I could knock.

Marcus stood in the entrance wearing the navy suit he had worn to our wedding anniversary dinner. His hair was carefully styled, and he held two glasses of red wine.

He looked almost like the man I had married.

Almost.

"You came," he said.

"You said you knew who was with your father when he died.""

His smile faded.

"Not even a hello?""

"Hello, Marcus.""

He stepped aside.

"Come in.""

I entered the foyer.

The chandelier above us cast warm light across the marble floor. The house looked immaculate, as though nothing had happened the previous night.

A fresh bouquet of white roses stood on the console table.

Arthur had hated white roses.

He always said they looked like flowers at a funeral.

"Where is your mother?"" I asked.

"Upstairs.""

"And Vanessa?""

"Why would Vanessa be here?""

"Because she knows about the money.""

His jaw tightened.

"Vanessa knows a lot of things she shouldn't.""

I followed him into the study.

The room smelled of leather, cedar, and the faint smoke of the fireplace. Arthur's portrait hung above the mantel, his silver hair neatly combed, his expression stern but kind.

Marcus placed a glass on the desk.

"Wine?""

"No.""

He poured himself a drink anyway.

"You've changed, Clara.""

"You mentioned that yesterday.""

"I mean it. You used to trust me.""

"I used to have reasons to.""

He swallowed his wine and turned toward the portrait.

"My father was difficult during his final months. He suspected everyone. He accused people of stealing from him. He even thought someone was accessing his medical records.""

"Was someone?""

Marcus looked at me.

"That's what you're here to find out, isn't it?""

"Yes.""

He set his glass down.

"Then listen carefully. The night Dad was admitted to the hospital, I wasn't there when he collapsed.""

I waited.

"He was already sick. His heart was failing. The doctors told us there was a chance he wouldn't recover.""

"That doesn't answer my question.""

He walked behind the desk and opened a drawer.

"I was in London that evening. I have the travel records to prove it.""

"Nobody said you were there when he collapsed.""

His expression hardened.

"You asked who was with him. I'm telling you I wasn't.""

I looked at Arthur's portrait.

"Then why did you ask me to come here?""

Marcus removed a thin folder from the drawer.

"Because Dad left something out of the official records.""

He slid a photograph across the desk.

It showed Arthur sitting in his hospital bed, pale and exhausted. An oxygen tube ran beneath his nose. Someone had taken the picture from the doorway.

I recognized the person standing beside the bed.

Eleanor.

My mother-in-law was holding Arthur's phone.

"When was this taken?"" I asked.

"The night he was admitted.""

"How do you know?""

"Because Mom sent it to me.""

I stared at the photograph.

"Why?""

"She wanted me to know Dad was asking questions about the company. She said he was becoming suspicious of everyone, including her.""

I looked up.

"You're saying your mother took his phone?""

"I'm saying she had it.""

"That's not the same thing.""

Marcus leaned against the desk.

"Do you remember the message Dad sent Chloe? The one telling her not to trust someone?""

"Yes.""

"That message was never written by Dad.""

My pulse quickened.

"What?""

"Mom sent it.""

The room seemed to shrink around me.

Marcus continued.

"She used Dad's phone to make Chloe believe he was in danger. She wanted Chloe to come to the hospital, where she could tell her about the financial investigation.""

"Why would Eleanor do that?""

"Because she was involved.""

I shook my head.

"No.""

"You don't want to believe it.""

"Arthur trusted her.""

"And look where that got him.""

I stepped back from the desk.

Marcus watched my reaction, then softened his voice.

"Clara, I'm not asking you to forgive me for everything. I know I made mistakes. But Dad's death wasn't my fault.""

I searched his face.

"Then why did you tell me not to trust Chloe?""

"Because Chloe has been protecting Mom for years.""

"Protecting her from what?""

He pushed the folder toward me.

Inside were bank statements and copies of several emails. One showed a transfer of $250,000 from a company account into an account bearing Eleanor's name.

The date was six months before Arthur died.

Another showed a payment to a private medical consultant.

"What is this?"" I asked.

"Money Mom took from the company. Dad discovered it. He planned to report the transfers.""

I looked at the amount again.

"Did you know?""

"Not until recently.""

"And the three-million-dollar loan?""

His eyes flickered.

"That's different.""

"Of course it is.""

"Clara, listen to me. Dad's investigation was going to destroy Mom. She panicked. She wanted to stop him from making the findings public.""

"How?""

Marcus hesitated.

"She told the hospital that Dad had become confused. She tried to have his financial decisions reviewed.""

I remembered Arthur's recording.

Someone knew when I was too ill to challenge what was happening.

"Did she interfere with his treatment?""

"No.""

The answer came too quickly.

I stared at him.

"How can you be sure?""

"Because I was there when the doctors explained his condition.""

"You said you were in London.""

Marcus went silent.

The words hung between us.

I watched him realize what he had just revealed.

Then, from somewhere beyond the study door, a floorboard creaked.

Marcus's head snapped toward the hallway.

"Mom?"" he called.

No answer.

He hurried to the door and pulled it open.

The hallway was empty.

But the door to Arthur's old bedroom stood slightly ajar.

A thin strip of light shone beneath it.

Marcus turned back to me.

"Don't go in there.""

I stared at him.

"Why?""

"Because there are things in that room you don't understand.""

I walked past him.

He grabbed my sleeve.

"Clara, stop!""

I pulled free and pushed the bedroom door open.

The room was cold and smelled faintly of lavender. Arthur's bedside table stood beside the bed, and a framed photograph of his late wife rested against the lamp.

On the pillow lay a white envelope.

My name was written across it.

Not in Arthur's handwriting.

In Eleanor's.

I picked it up.

Behind me, Marcus whispered, "She wasn't supposed to leave that here.""

I turned the envelope over.

The seal had already been broken.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

The first sentence made my knees weaken.

*Clara, if Marcus has brought you back to this house, then he has finally decided to tell you the part of the story that makes him look innocent.*