Nobody spoke.
The conference room had become impossibly quiet.
The key remained on the table.
Small.
Silver.
Ordinary.
Yet somehow it felt heavier than every document, every photograph, and every secret they had uncovered that morning.
Chanel's hand rested beside it.
Steady.
But only barely.
Camille could see it now.
The tension.
The fear.
The uncertainty.
For the first time since Chanel Sinclair had entered their lives, she no longer looked like the woman who had walked into the estate radiating confidence and control.
She looked like a daughter.
And daughters were rarely prepared to discover their dead mothers were alive.
Dante's gaze never left her.
"What exactly did the message say?"
Chanel swallowed.
Then slowly unlocked her phone.
The room watched.
Nobody interrupted.
Nobody moved.
After a few seconds she slid the device across the table.
Toward Dante.
Toward everyone.
Camille leaned closer.
The message contained only three lines.
No greeting.
