"Oh, I have a hunch," Ares growls, his voice dropping into that dangerous, sarcastic tone I've come to recognize. "My parents talk about everything. Every. Single. Thing. So my father must have told my mom about the missing paper, and that your grandmother was on his suspect list."
He runs a hand through his hair, agitation evident in every movement. "Knowing my mother, she would have advised my dad to fire your grandmother."
I shrug. "So why didn't he?"
Ares sighs. "For all the bastard my father can be, he doesn't like change in his household. He wouldn't have fired your grandmother without what he considered proof. Evelyn had proven herself trustworthy after more than a decade working for our family. That means something to my father. But my mother..." He shakes his head, disgust darkening his features. "She isn't exactly warm-hearted, as you well know."
His gaze turns distant, like he's piecing together a puzzle in real time. "I'm thinking... she saw an opportunity when my father and I left for that business trip to London to find a way to convince my father to do what she wanted, get rid of you in my life. And if that meant falsely accusing you, then so be it. And she got Wells to help her."
Ares looks at me, pain mixed with growing conviction. "So when we returned from London, my mother showed my father the security footage of you in her closet with the jewelry. Then Wells conveniently 'found' the missing pieces in your cottage."
He shakes his head. "To my father, it was an open and shut case—his trusted head of security catching the thief, who just happened to be the granddaughter of the woman he already suspected of taking his precious document."
"Perfect storm," I whisper.
"Perfect setup," he corrects. "Wells gets your grandmother fired, removing the only witness to whatever he was doing on my father's computer. My mother gets you out of my life. And my father..." His voice hardens. "My father gets to feel justified in his suspicions while never questioning why his wife and head of security were so aligned in their story."
I wrap my arms around myself, feeling suddenly cold despite the warm evening. "Why didn’t my grandmother tell your father about finding Wells in his office? She could have defended herself."
Ares's expression softens. "To protect you, most likely. She must have known the odds were stacked against her—Theodore Saint's trusted housekeeper versus his head of security? And if she admitted to having the document..."
"She'd be confirming she lied to him," I finish quietly. "When he directly asked her about it."
"Exactly. In my father's world, loyalty is everything. A betrayal like that..." He shakes his head. "She knew staying quiet was safer for both of you."
I run my fingers along the edge of the diary, tracing my grandmother's handwriting. "But what was on that paper that Wells took? What could possibly be worth all this—framing us, firing her, destroying our lives?"
Ares leans back, frustration evident in the set of his shoulders.
"I don't know. But whatever it was, it had to be damaging enough that my father couldn't risk it getting out—and valuable enough that Wells would gamble his career to obtain it." He rubs his jaw thoughtfully. "And it’s connected to Saint Global Ventures..."
"You mentioned that was one of your father's shell companies?"
"Yeah." His voice drops, almost reluctant to continue. "It's where certain transactions go when he wants them kept quiet. Not necessarily illegal, but..." He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. "My father has always operated in gray areas when it comes to business. The kind of gray that powerful men navigate without consequences."
The implication hangs between us, heavy with possibility.
"We need to find that paper," Ares says finally, urgency threading through his voice. "Whatever Wells discovered and your grandmother kept hidden—it was important enough that someone might kill to keep it buried."
Ares spends the next hours combing through the remaining volumes. But beyond that one crucial entry, Gran's writings reveal nothing else about that day in Theodore's office. Just her usual observations about the house, careful notes about which rooms needed extra attention, which flowers were blooming in the garden.
The rustling of pages suddenly stops. When I look up from Gran's earlier entries, Ares sits frozen, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
"What?" I ask, setting down another diary.
He swallows hard, his finger marking a page. "I found something." His voice catches. "It's from three days after you left the cottage."
My heart stumbles. Those first days are seared into my memory—the bitter taste of betrayal, the endless tears, the way my body physically ached for someone who never came.
Ares clears his throat and begins to read:
"My sweet girl cried herself to sleep again tonight. Her pillow's wet with tears she thinks I don't see, but a grandmother knows.
I catch her sometimes, standing at the window, watching for his arrival. She thinks I don't notice how she straightens every time she hears a sound by the door, how her shoulders slump when it's nothing. How could they do this to her? Frame my innocent girl for their lies?
Tonight she finally asked the question I've been dreading: 'Why hasn't he come, Gran? Why does he believe them?' I had no answer that wouldn't shatter what's left of her heart.
The weight of this injustice is almost too much to bear. My brilliant, talented girl, reduced to watching shadows and chasing ghosts. The Saints may have taken our home, our security, but watching them steal my granddaughter's light—that's a sin I'm not sure even God can forgive."
