Chapter 21

{Hailey’s Pov}

I was in George Lachlan’s will for a purpose. All the riddles and secret locks are there for a reason. I settled into the sofa armchairs, in the office. I began to bring out each letter that had riddles on it. There was a particular one that Marcus gave me but I did not open it. I started to put it all together.

Firstly, “I’m sorry.” George apologized. Marcus said he chose me for a reason, that I was special, but what could that be? Also, he left me the key to the secret locks.

Secondly, “To find the end, you must first see the beginning.” What beginning? I placed my hand on my forehead. I was losing it. I know I need money, but this is too big for me. Are there some secrets the Lachlan is hiding? I'm not a detective, for crying out loud. Julian keeps saying I don’t know what I have stepped into.

Then I proceeded to the letter that Marcus gave me, which I didn’t bother to open.

I turned the envelope over and saw Marcus’s name scrawled across the front. This is his letter, I realized—the one he was given at the reading of the will. I still had no idea what to make of my own letter, no idea what George Lachlan was apologizing for. Maybe Marcus’s letter would clarify something.

I opened it and read. The message was longer than mine and made even less sense.

Marcus,

Better the devil you know than the one you don’t—or is it? Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. All that glitters is not gold. Nothing is certain but death and taxes. There but for the grace of God go I.

Don’t judge.

—George Joe Lachlan.

It sounded like it had been written by someone who hadn’t slept in days, manic, rattling off one platitude after another. But the longer the words marinated in the back of my brain, the more I began to consider the possibility that Marcus might be right. There’s something there, in the letters. In Marcus. In mine, an answer or a clue.

I read Marcus’s letter again. Slower this time.

“Better the devil you know than the one you don’t…”

“Power corrupts…”

“All that glitters…”

“Don’t judge.”

What was George trying to say?

I sat back in the armchair, holding the paper like it might start burning in my hands. Maybe that was the point. Maybe George wanted us to burn, inside, out, all the way to the truth.

I looked around the office. The heavy bookshelves. The cold fireplace. The ticking grandfather clock sounded louder now that I was alone.

“Okay,” I whispered to myself, “Start at the beginning.”

To find the end, you must first see the beginning.

But what was the beginning? The first letter he left me only said: “I’m sorry.”

The second: “The door opens in silence.”

And now I had this one from Marcus’s envelope, full of weird quotes that didn’t seem connected. I stood up and paced. My fingers tapped against the edge of the desk.

What if the letters weren’t just messages? What if they were pieces of a puzzle? I gathered the envelopes and laid them out on the table. I opened the drawers. Maybe there was something else. A hidden drawer? A switch?

I remembered what Marcus said. “Every desk George ever bought has secret compartments.” I checked the bottom of the drawer again, ran my fingers under it, then pushed the panel at the back.

Click. My heart jumped. The false back popped open.

Inside was a thin leather bookworn, brown, and sealed with a gold clasp. I pulled it out with shaking hands. No name. No label. I opened it slowly.

The first page had a sentence, written in that same neat, scratchy handwriting I recognized from George’s notes. “She is the last test. She must not know until the end.” My blood turned cold.

Was that about me?

I flipped through the pages. Most were empty. But in the middle of the book, there was a list, dates, names, and numbers. Some names I didn’t recognize. But a few stood out: Leonard Lachlan, Debra Lachlan, Julian Lachlan, Clara Smith, Marcus Lachlan, Hailey Vale. My name was last. No notes next to it. Just a date. The day I first entered the mansion.

What kind of list was this?

A test list? An experiment?

Was I really chosen, or was I just another piece in George’s sick game? I backed away from the table. None of this made sense.

Why bring me into this world, throw keys and riddles at me, lie to everyone else, then leave me messages like “I’m sorry”? Why would he test me?

Unless… unless he knew something I didn’t. Maybe I wasn’t the one with the secret. Maybe they were.

I walked toward the window and stared out at the garden. The sky had gone grey. A storm was coming.

Julian’s words echoed in my head: “You don’t know what you’ve stepped into.”

No, I didn’t. But I was starting to understand that this wasn’t about money. Or inheritance. It was about something bigger.

Secrets. Blood.Power. Suddenly, the door creaked. I turned fast. Clara stepped in, holding a tray of tea and toast. “I thought you could use something warm,” she said gently.

I nodded, still shaken. “Thanks.”

She placed the tray down, but her eyes locked on the leather book. “Where did you find that?”

I didn’t answer. Not yet.

Clara moved closer. “That’s George’s private notebook. No one was ever allowed to touch it. Not even Debra.”

“Then why was it hidden in my desk?” I asked.

She didn’t respond right away. Then she said, “Because maybe… he wanted you to find it.”

I opened the book to the list and pointed. “Why is my name here, Clara? What was George planning?”

She looked at the names. “These… These are all people George called into his office in the last year before he died.”

“Why?”

She hesitated. “He asked questions. Gave out small tasks. Told them to watch each other. He said he was collecting answers.”

“Answers for what?”

Clara swallowed. “For the truth.”

I stared at her. “What truth?”

But she didn’t say more. Just stepped back toward the door. “Be careful with that book, Hailey. It holds more than answers.”

Then she left.

I sank back into the chair. My eyes returned to the final message I’d read in the book:

“She must not know until the end.” Was I the heiress—or just another clue? My phone buzzed on the table. A text from an unknown number.

UNKNOWN: They lied about the DNA test. She is of Lachlan blood. But not in the way they think.

I stared at the screen, my heart racing.

I looked at the book. The locked doors. The mirror message. Blood is louder than truth.

And suddenly, I knew the game wasn’t over.

It was just beginning