Page 89 of Laced With Secrets

“I’ve been planning this for weeks,” Adelaide continued conversationally. “Ever since I realized you wouldn’t stop investigating. The greenhouse was already in disrepair—genuinely unsafe according to structural engineers. Made it easy for me to make it much more unsafe.”

She gestured up at the glass roof. In the moonlight, I could see the glass panels, held in place by an elaborate framework of iron and steel. Beautiful and delicate and utterly deadly if it fell.

“The original construction used a complex pulley system with counterweights,” Adelaide explained, her voice taking on a lecturer’s tone. “Heavy glass panels suspended by cables running through the iron framework, balanced by counterweights in the walls. Very sophisticated for the 1880s. The pressure plates were part of the estate’s security—electromagnets and wires. Step on the wrong tile and alarms would sound. My grandfather was paranoid about intruders.”

She smiled, cold and calculating. “I’ve spent the past month systematically cutting the support cables. Removing counterweights. Weakening the iron framework. The entire roof is now suspended by a single main cable—and that cable is attached to a release mechanism connected to the pressure plate you’re standing on. Step off, and the release triggers. Without the counterweights and support cables, several tons of glass and iron come down instantly.”

My pregnant belly suddenly felt enormous, vulnerable. My hands went protectively to the bump. “Adelaide, please. I’m carrying a child?—”

“I’m aware. Which is precisely why this is such an effective trap. You won’t risk sudden movement, won’t risk the baby. You’ll stay perfectly still until the timer I’ve set runs out. Fifteen minutes, give or take.”

“They’ll know it was you,” I said desperately. “Sheriff Hawkins already suspects?—”

“Sheriff Hawkins suspects my father. Everyone suspects my father. That was always my plan—let the investigation conclude that Henry Fairfax killed Thomas Wong to protect his business interests, then died before facing justice.”

“Richard gave the sheriff the letter two days ago,” I said quickly. “They’ve done forensic analysis, they know it was forged?—”

Adelaide’s expression flickered—surprise and anger. “Richard gave them the letter?”

“Yes. It’s evidence now. They’re analyzing everything, investigating everyone who had access to Thomas’ writing samples.” I tried to appeal to logic. “If you do this, if you kill me, it won’t solve anything. It’ll just make you the prime suspect?—”

“Then your death buys me time. Cambodia has no extradition treaty with the US. I have accounts prepared, a new identity ready. By the time they find your body and connect it to me, I’ll be enjoying retirement in Siem Reap.”

But beneath the cold pragmatism, I saw something crack—genuine desperation, the terror of someone who’d spent half a century maintaining a lie.

“Let it end, Adelaide,” I said softly, seeing the opening. “Turn yourself in. Tell the truth. Let Thomas’ family and Richard have real closure. Aren’t you tired?”

For one moment, Adelaide’s carefully constructed facade crumbled. I saw genuine anguish flash across her face—guilt, exhaustion, the soul-crushing weight of half a century of lies.

Then it hardened again, calcified back into cold determination.

“I’d rather carry it forever than face prison.” She moved toward the exit, but stopped suddenly. Her eyes narrowed.

“Your phone. Give it to me. Now.”

When I hesitated, she reached into her clutch bag and withdrew a small gun—elegant, silver, the kind of compact ladies’ pistol that could be concealed easily. She pointed it at me with a steady hand.

“The phone, Leo. Or I shoot you right now.”

My hand trembled as I pulled out my phone and held it toward her, extending my arm as far as I could without shifting my weight. Adelaide moved closer and snatched it from my grasp. She checked the screen, saw no calls or messages had been sent, and pocketed it with satisfaction.

“Smart boy.” She backed toward the door again. The gun remained pointed at me. “The trigger is set to release when you step off the tile. Don’t move. Don’t call out. If I hear anything before I’m safely away from this wing, I come back and shoot you. Understood?”

I nodded mutely.

Adelaide studied me for a long moment, and something almost regretful crossed her face. “I’m sorry, Leo. Truly. You seem like a good person. But I’ve spent fifty years protecting my secret. I won’t let it destroy me now.”

“Adelaide, wait?—”

But she was already at the door, pulling it open. The corridor light spilled in, silhouetting her elegant figure.

“Don’t shift your weight too much either,” she said without looking back.

The door closed. I heard the lock engage from outside—a soft, final click that seemed to echo in the glass space.

And then I was alone in the greenhouse, standing on a pressure plate connected by a single wire to tons of glass and iron suspended above me—minutes away from death, without my phone to call for help.

I felt Dominic’s panic slice through our bond, sharp and visceral, as if a blade were being twisted between my ribs.