Part 3 : The Blueprint of Betrayal
Margaret turned to flee, but Elias blocked her path. The mourners, now realizing that the "grief" they were performing was for an empty box, began to clamor. The atmosphere in the chapel shifted from mourning to an explosive, volatile confusion.
Claire reached into the casket. Her hands, stained with sawdust and grease, trembled as she lifted the iron box. She didn't open it; she held it up, a trophy of her survival.
"This isn't about my brother’s death, is it?" Elias asked, his voice shaking. "Margaret, tell me you didn't—"
"I did what was necessary to preserve the Vale legacy!" Margaret snapped, dropping the mask entirely. She shoved past Elias, her eyes fixed on the iron box in Claire’s hands. "Give that to me, you pathetic little laborer. You were hired to build things, not to pry into them."
"I was hired to build the truth," Claire countered. "And I noticed that the dimensions didn't add up. Every room I built for you, Margaret, had a hidden void. I wondered why. Then I realized—you weren't just building a home. You were building a cage."
Claire gripped the axe in one hand and the box in the other. She stepped out of the coffin, her presence commanding the room. "The police are already on their way, Margaret. I sent them the coordinates of the basement floor you made me seal. The one where you kept the accounts, the blackmail, and... the truth about what happened to your husband."
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Margaret’s face curdled into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. She pulled a small, silver pistol from the folds of her funeral dress. "You should have stayed in the workshop, Claire."
A collective scream erupted from the mourners as they scrambled for the exits. Elias dove for the floor, shielding his face. Claire didn't flinch. She had spent months bracing for this moment. She knew the woman standing before her wasn't grieving; she was a predator cornered by a carpenter who knew exactly where the foundation was rotting.
