Arthur stopped breathing.
I whispered, “That’s why you brought Beatrice.”
“No.”
“You knew Chloe was dead.”
“No.”
“You came home with your mistress on your arm because you wanted me to lose control.”
“Claire—”
“You wanted witnesses.”
He said nothing.
That silence was confession.
I stepped backward.
Arthur reached for me.
I slapped his hand away.
“You wanted to provoke me after our daughter died so you could tell a court I was unstable.”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
Those words were worse than denial.
Because they admitted there had been a plan.
“What was supposed to happen?”
He sank into the chair.
“You were supposed to scream.”
I felt physically ill.
“Beatrice would document it.
Mom would come the next morning.
The lawyers would…”
His voice faded.
“Finish.”
“We would request temporary oversight.”
“Of me?”
“Of the trust.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“You knew our daughter was buried.”
