Page 119 of The Last Morgan

“This is what matters,” he said coolly. “Always has.”

“Well,” Lucy said, stepping closer, “there was no sample.”

His face twitched, the first crack in his façade. “What did you say?”

“I said,” she repeated, louder this time, “the box had more gems in it. No samples. Nothing. You killed our family for nothing.”

She turned to Corey. “I can’t kill him. But please—call Carter.”

As Corey moved out of the room, Lucy looked back at Lillian, her expression softer but wary.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you. I know this isn’t your fault. But you need to decide where you stand.”

Lillian stared at her husband for a long time, then turned back to Lucy. “I didn’t know, Lucy. I swear, I didn’t. I knew he kept things from me, but I thought it was just government work. Not… this.”

“You knew something wasn’t right,” Lucy said gently. “You just didn’t want to see it.”

“I was afraid,” Lillian whispered. “Afraid of what asking questions might cost. Afraid of what he might do. But I never would’ve let this happen to you. If I’d known…”

“I believe you,” Lucy said. “And I meant what I said. If you still want to be part of this family, I’ll protect you and I’ll keep you safe.”

Tears streamed down Lillian’s cheeks. “I do. I want to stay. I want to make it right.”

Behind her, her husband finally spoke again. “Lillian—”

But she didn’t turn around. She walked upstairs, slow but sure, and slammed her bedroom door shut.

Lucy exhaled. The room was still now. Quiet.

“Now,” she said softly, “we wait for Carter.”

The driveway stretched out like a silver ribbon beneath the rising morning mist. Lieutenant Carter gripped the steering wheel tightly, his mind a chaotic whirl of thoughts as he guided the vehicle slowly toward the mansion.

Could this finally be over?

The question gnawed at him, stubborn and relentless. Every lead, every heartbreak, every dead end over the years had dragged him further into this mess. But today — today felt different.

He eased the car to a stop near the front steps. Standing there, waiting with a grim expression, was Corey.

Carter opened the door and climbed out. "Hey, Corey," he said, forcing a rough smile. "How’s it going?"

Corey let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. "Brother… if only you knew."

They stood in a heavy silence for a moment before Corey quickly, roughly, brought Carter up to speed — the confrontation, the confessions, the devastation that hung over the house like a funeral shroud.

Without another word, Carter followed Corey through the grand entrance. Inside, the mansion was still, the air thick with tension.

Then he saw her.

Lucy stood by the large front window, arms wrapped around herself, staring blankly into the grey morning. There was a distant, almost haunted look on her face, as if she were somewhere far beyond the walls around her.

Carter stepped closer, his boots barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. When he was behind her, he spoke softly.

"Hey."

Lucy turned slowly, her eyes meeting his — and in that moment, the dam broke. Tears welled up, brimming until they spilled down her cheeks. Carter's chest tightened at the sight. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a firm, protective hug.

"After all this time, Carter," she whispered against his chest, her voice trembling, "we figured out who killed my family."