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My breath catches. “I’m not judging you,” I say.

His mouth twists. “You should.”

“I’m the one who⁠—”

“No.” His voice slices through the room. “You defended yourself.”

“And you defended me.”

“We’ll take one of the larger cars from the side garage,” he says. “The staff will be contained. I’ll handle Audrey’s disappearance.”

My stomach tightens. “How?”

“Emails. A resignation. A few messages written in her tone. Something abrupt but believable.”

The horror of it is how simple he makes it all sound.

My voice comes out thin. “People will question that.”

“Not the right people.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means Audrey spent her entire life being useful to this house and nothing else. She has no family. No close friends. No one outside these walls who expects a birthday call or a holiday visit.”

“She had no one?” I whisper.

He looks at the chest. “No one who would be listened to.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“No. It isn’t.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

Then, “What about Charlotte?” I ask. “Or Tiffany?”

“What about them?”

“They might ask questions.”

“They might.”

“And?”

“And who cares? They can ask all the questions they want. They’ll get no further than our official explanation.” He nods toward the chest. “We need to go.”

My pulse lurches.

Now.

It’s happening now.

I close my eyes.

I see Audrey’s face.

I open my eyes. “Tell me what to do.”