Arthur didn't speak during the entire drive home.
Clara didn't ask him to.
The photograph lay inside her handbag, but its contents seemed to occupy every inch of the car.
Edward Delevon.
Sebastian Vance.
And Arthur's father.
Three men seated around the same table, apparently discussing something important on the very night Edward died.
Clara had spent years searching for the people responsible for destroying her family. She had never imagined that the answer might lead to the Volkskrant household.
When the car finally stopped in front of their residence, Arthur turned toward her.
"Clara, I want you to understand something."
She looked at him.
"What?"
"I won't defend my father if he's done something wrong. But I also won't accuse him based on a photograph and an anonymous message."
Clara nodded.
"I wouldn't expect you to."
"I mean it."
"So do I."
She opened her handbag and took out the photograph.
"But I need the truth. Not the version your family finds convenient."
