“There is a room beneath Whitmore Tower that does not appear on any floor plan. The silver key in the case opens the first door. The second door requires something only Eleanor’s daughter would have.”
I looked at the bracelet on my wrist.
My mother’s bracelet.
The tiny leaf clasp gleamed beneath the office lamp.
Aunt Margaret’s gaze seemed to lower, as if she knew exactly where I would look.
“When you are ready,” she said, “go to the tower. Take Mr. Meyers. Take no one else until you know who has been watching.”
The screen crackled.
For a second, her image distorted.
Then she said the final words in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Your mother did not die in an accident, Emily. She left you a map.”
The recording stopped.
No one moved.
The office was silent except for Noah’s uneven breathing and the faint hum of the screen.
