The storm had grown stronger outside the Royal Grand Hotel.
Rain struck the enormous glass windows, while flashes of lightning illuminated the dark coastline.
Inside the private lounge, Clara stood motionless, staring at the photograph in Arthur's hand.
Her father.
Eleanor and a message suggesting that someone else had survived that terrible night.
For three years, she had believed her family had been destroyed.
First, her father then her mother.
And finally, the Delevon empire, which had fallen into the hands of people who had betrayed everything her family stood for.
But now she understood something.
Her enemies had never truly finished what they started.
They had simply been waiting for her to stop asking questions.
Arthur placed the photograph on the table.
"Clara, we need to leave. This hotel is no longer secure."
She glanced at the two security officers standing near the entrance.
"Has the man who delivered this envelope been found?"
