The metallic click of handcuffs echoing through the vaulted ceiling of the chapel was the sweetest sound I had heard since my world died.

Arthur didn't panic. He slowly lowered the syringe, a sad, weary smile spreading across his aged face. He looked at me, his blue eyes filled with a bizarre mixture of regret and cold calculation.

"Hello, Clara," Arthur said, his voice soft, almost paternal. "I hoped you wouldn't be the one to find this place."

"You monster..." I choked out, stepping around Kane, my eyes fixed on the man I had trusted like a second father. "You gave Silas the poison. You helped them kill Rose and Leo!"

"I didn't want them to suffer, Clara!" Arthur said, his voice rising with emotional defense. "You have to understand! Silas was going to have that mechanic cut the brake lines and let that car smash into a concrete wall at eighty miles per hour! Do you have any idea what that would have done to those innocent children? It would have been violent, painful, terrifying!"

"So you poisoned them?!" I shrieked, my voice echoing off the wooden beams of the cabin. "You put neurotoxin in their food?!"

"I gave them a sedative mixed with the toxin," Arthur said, tears actually shimmering in his eyes—horrible, fake, sociopathic tears. "They went to sleep, Clara. They felt no pain. They were already gone before the car ever hit the tree. I spared them the horror of the crash!"

"You didn't spare them! You murdered them for money!" I roared, taking a step toward him.

Kane kept his gun trained on Arthur. "Step away from the doctor, Pendelton! Turn around and put your hands on your head!"

"It wasn't just money, Clara," Arthur said, looking deep into my eyes. "Your father... your precious father wasn't the saint you thought he was."

I froze. "What are you talking about?"

"The thirty-acre land parcel," Arthur sneered, his gentle demeanor dropping, revealing the bitterness beneath. "Your father didn't buy that land to remediate toxic waste. He bought it forty years ago because he used it as an illegal dumping ground for toxic industrial chemical waste from our joint manufacturing plants! If Senator Vance’s casino project didn't buy that land and cap it with concrete, environmental inspectors were going to dig it up next year!"

My breath caught in my throat.

"If they dug up that land," Arthur continued, "your father’s reputation would have been destroyed post-humously. The state would have seized his entire estate—including your trust fund, your house, your inheritance, everything! I was trying to protect his legacy! I was trying to protect you!"

"By killing my children?!" I screamed, rage blinding my vision. "You killed my family to cover up chemical dumping?!"

"Vance promised me immunity!" Arthur yelled back. "He promised that if we secured the land through Silas, he would seal the environmental records forever! I did what had to be done to survive!"

"It’s over, Arthur," Kane said coldly. "Vance is in federal custody. Silas is in a cell. Evelyn is in handcuffs. You’re the last one left."

Arthur looked at Kane, then at me. A strange, serene calm washed over his face.

"No, Agent Kane," Arthur said softly. "I’m not going to a federal penitentiary at my age."

In one swift motion, Arthur raised the syringe in his hand and slammed the needle directly into his own neck, plunging the plunger all the way down.

"NO!" Kane yelled, rushing forward.

Arthur stumbled back, collapsing into an armchair as the lethal dose of tetrodotoxin surged through his bloodstream. His body began to convulse immediately, his breath hitching in his throat.

I stood there, watching him gasp for air, unable to move, unable to feel pity.

Arthur looked at me, his eyes widening in paralysis as the toxin took effect. With his final, gasping breath, he leaned forward and rasped out three final words:

"Check... the... safe..."

His head fell limp against his chest. His eyes went glassy and vacant.

Arthur Pendelton was dead.

Kane rushed to Dr. Rostova, checking her pulse. "She’s alive! She’s just sedated! I’m calling an ambulance!"

While Kane radioed for medical backup, I walked slowly over to Arthur’s corpse.

In his coat pocket sat a heavy brass key attached to a tag with a room number: Vault 402 — St. Jude Memorial Funeral Home.

My eyes widened.