Part 7

The next morning, the sun rose over the Anderson estate, casting long, sharp shadows across the manicured lawns.

For the past ten years, this place had felt like a prison to me, a constant reminder of everything I had lost and everything I was denied.

But today, as the iron gates rolled open for my car, the air felt entirely different.

I pulled up to the front entrance of the massive stone mansion.

Standing on the front steps was Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper who had been a loyal follower of Patricia for as long as I could remember.

She looked nervous, her hands wringing her apron, realizing that the power dynamic in this house had shifted overnight.

I stepped out of the vehicle, carrying Grandma Grace’s leather briefcase.

“Good morning, Miss Myra,” Mrs. Gable said, her voice trembling slightly as she attempted a polite smile. “I have prepared breakfast in the small dining room, just as your father usually likes.”

“Change of plans, Mrs. Gable,” I said, walking right past her into the grand foyer. “My father won’t be staying here anymore. He is moving into the downtown penthouse by the end of the week.”

Mrs. Gable blinked in shock. “And... and Mrs. Patricia?”

“Mrs. Patricia is currently being held without bail,” I replied smoothly, stopping to look at the massive, gilded portrait of Patricia that hung prominently above the grand staircase. “First order of business: take that portrait down and put it in the basement. If I see it when I come down for breakfast tomorrow, you can join her in looking for a new place to live.”

“Right away, Miss Myra,” she said quickly, bowing her head and rushing off to find the maintenance staff.

I walked up the grand staircase, the soles of my shoes clicking against the marble floors.

I made my way down the long, carpeted hallway toward the master wing—the rooms that Grandma Grace had occupied before Patricia shifted her to the medical annex in her final months.

The door was locked with a heavy brass key, but Mr. Whitman had given me the master set.

I turned the key in the lock, the heavy wood grooving open with a deep creak.

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The room was preserved exactly as Grandma had left it, filled with the scent of old paper, lavender, and history.

This was where the real answers were waiting for me.