The estate plan.
The trap.
Grandfather had spent decades waiting.
Not for revenge.
For proof.
Rebecca continued.
“Eleanor blamed herself for what happened to me.
Everett moved me overseas and funded my recovery.”
“And my grandmother?”
“She gathered more evidence.”
Rebecca’s voice became almost a whisper.
“But Cordelia realized she was still alive.”
My hands trembled.
“How did Grandmother die?”
Rebecca looked at me.
This time there was no softness.
“Six months later, Eleanor disappeared from Bellweather.”
I stared.
“That’s not true.”
I knew my grandmother’s history.
She had died before I was born.
Cancer.
At least that was what I had always been told.
Phoebe closed her eyes.
Another lie.
Another layer.
Rebecca said, “The woman who died of cancer was not Eleanor.”
I could barely breathe.
“Stop.”
“Sloan—”
“Stop.”
The world tilted.
I gripped my cane.
“My grandmother died when my mother was a teenager.”
