The apartment was too quiet after Monroe's bombshell.
Bella paced the living room floor in tight circles, fingers pressed to her temples. "She never told me anything about an envelope. I went through all her things…"
"Could she have mailed it?" Mason asked Monroe. "To someone she trusted?"
Monroe shook his head. "There were no mail records that week. No packages from the manor. I checked. But Emily was smart. If she mentioned the envelope on camera, she wanted someone to find it."
Bella stopped pacing. "Unless someone already did."
Mason turned to Monroe. "Is there any chance the cops missed it during their investigation?"
Monroe raised an eyebrow. "You mean the fake investigation? The one rushed and swept under the rug in two days? Yeah. It's very possible."
"So where do we start?" Bella asked.
Monroe opened his phone and tapped the screen a few times. "We start with the original investigator on the case. His name's Kyle Becker. Used to be decent—until he started showing up to work in a new car and a thousand-dollar watch."
Bella's eyes widened. "Are you saying he was bribed?"
"I'm saying he's the kind of man who gets paid to look away."
That afternoon, they tracked Becker down at a private security firm where he now worked. He was older, thicker around the middle, but still had that same smug, dismissive face.
He greeted Monroe with a forced smile. "I thought you were retired."
"And yet here I am," Monroe replied, dry.
Becker's eyes flicked to Mason and Bella. "And who are they?"
Monroe leaned in. "You remember Emily Harrow? Of course you do. You were the lead on her case. The case you ruled an accident without a second thought."
Becker scoffed. "It was an accident."
Bella stepped forward, voice steady. "She had bruises on her face. She recorded three videos before she died. She left a journal. She said someone threatened her."
For a split second, Becker's face changed—just slightly. A twitch. A tell.
"I don't know anything about that," he said.
Mason stepped forward. "Then you won't mind us reopening the investigation. With the press involved."
Becker's smirk disappeared. He looked around the small office, then muttered, "I never found the envelope. But I heard she told the gardener something."
Bella blinked. "The gardener?"
Becker nodded once. "Luis. He worked the grounds before and after her death. He quit suddenly a week after she died. Said he was 'done with the house.' I never got a chance to interview him."
"Where is he now?" Monroe asked.
Becker frowned. "Mexico. But I've got his number."
The sun was setting as they drove back toward Riverton. The plan was simple: pack the rest of Emily's things, double-check the grounds, and follow up with Luis by phone.
But nothing about the evening went to plan.
As they pulled into the driveway, Bella noticed it first.
"The door's open," she said.
Mason killed the engine.
They moved fast. Monroe went in first, gun drawn. Mason followed, keeping Bella behind him.
The manor was ransacked. Drawers pulled out, furniture overturned, floorboards pried up. Whoever had broken in wasn't subtle—they were searching, hard.
Bella's heart pounded as she walked into Emily's room. The old music box Emily loved was smashed. Her mattress was slashed open.
"They're looking for the envelope," Mason said grimly.
"But if it's not here—" Bella paused, eyes wide.
"What?"
Bella turned toward the wall.
There, hidden behind a painting of a field, was a loose panel. It had been pried open—but sloppily, like someone in a hurry had gotten frustrated.
She reached inside.
Nothing.
Just dust.
And a small scrap of paper, nearly disintegrated.
She pulled it out gently. On it, written in faded ink:
> "If they find this before you do, don't come looking for me. Go to the place where we used to watch the stars. – E"
Bella clutched the paper to her chest. "She left us a clue. But someone else already found it first."
Monroe stepped in. "Time's running out. If they think we're close, they'll make their next move soon."
Back at the city apartment, Monroe made contact with Luis Ortega, the gardener.
The call was brief—and unsettling.
Luis refused to speak on the phone. He sounded scared. Said he'd only talk in person.
"I think they're listening," he whispered. "They came to my sister's place last week. Said I should keep my mouth shut about Emily Harrow."
Bella's voice trembled. "Luis, please. My sister trusted you. We just want to know the truth."
There was a long silence.
Then: "Come alone. No cops. I'll meet you. But only her. Not the men."
Click.
The call ended.
Mason was furious. "Absolutely not. You're not going alone."
Bella met his eyes. "She left a clue for me. She trusted Luis. I have to go."
Monroe hesitated. "We'll follow at a distance. Watch her back."
Mason's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Bella placed her hand on his arm. "You said you wouldn't lose me. You won't."
And for the first time, Mason realized… she wasn't the fragile girl who'd arrived at his doorstep anymore.
She was changing. Quickly.
Hours later, under the heavy silence of midnight, Bella waited at a dark park on the edge of town—the place where Emily used to watch the stars as a teen.
Luis appeared quietly, limping slightly.
He sat beside her, eyes bloodshot, nervous.
"I only have a minute," he whispered. "They're watching."
Bella nodded. "Emily said you knew something. About an envelope."
Luis reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded sheet.
"She gave this to me the night before she died. Told me to hide it."
Bella opened it carefully.
Inside was a photograph—of Emily at a gala.
Standing beside Michael Lang.
And behind them, clear as day… Mason.
Bella's breath caught.
He had never told her he knew Lang.
Luis shook his head. "I thought you knew."
Bella couldn't breathe.
Mason… was at the gala?
The night Emily said everything changed?