Chapter 11 · Father Points at Her

Arthur's hand shook when he reached for the teacup.

Vivian stood three feet from the bed. She could smell the bergamot. Could see the steam curling up. The same tea she'd brought him every afternoon for months.

He didn't look at her when he lifted it. He looked at Silas.

"You have to understand," Arthur said. His voice cracked. "I thought I was protecting us."

Silas stood by the window. He hadn't said a word since Arthur handed him the vault key. The small brass thing sat in his palm like a grenade.

Arthur drank.

One sip. That's all it took.

The cup hit the floor. Porcelain exploded across the hardwood. Tea spread in a dark stain that looked too much like blood.

Arthur's mouth opened. No sound came out. His body jerked once. Twice. Then he was gasping, clawing at his throat, eyes going wide and wet.

Vivian moved without thinking. She grabbed his shoulders. "Father—"

He shoved her. Hard.

She stumbled back. Hit the dresser. A picture frame fell and shattered.

Arthur's arm came up. Shaking. Finger extended.

Pointing straight at her.

"You," he choked out. The word barely made it past his lips. "You.