“That’s interesting,” I say.
Her smile tightens. “Is it?”
“That album lives on that shelf,” I continue evenly. “If you were getting it for my mother, you weren’t passing through. You were in this room.”
The silence holds.
Penelope straightens, recovering quickly. “Of course I was,” she says. “I’m staying for the weekend. I don’t see why that matters.”
“It matters,” I say.
She steps closer and reaches for my hand.
“Forget about her,” Penelope murmurs. “Focus on tomorrow. You need stability right now, Brooks. Someone beside you so the board doesn’t smell blood. We can present a united front."
I pull my hand away as if she’s burned me.
“Get out.”
“Brooks—”
“Get out, Penelope. Before I have security escort you off the property.”
Her eyes flash with anger. She turns sharply and stalks from the room, leaving the album behind on the desk.
I don’t move for a long moment.
She lied.
She was in this room Friday night.
I pull out my phone and open the security app. My thumb is steady as I scroll back through the timeline.
Friday.
7:30 PM.
Camera 5: Library Interior.
The black-and-white footage begins to play.
Penelope enters the room.
She’s empty-handed.
She crosses directly to the shelves along the far wall, scans the spines, and removes the leather-bound album.
She turns to leave.
Then she slows.
Her head turns.
She’s noticed something.
I pinch the screen and zoom in.
Ivy’s purse sits on the corner of the desk, its top slightly open.
