After getting rid of the trio, Claire Sinclair locked herself in the cold, dreary room. She cleaned it from top to bottom, then knelt before her mother's memorial tablet, her face grim and silent.
Eventually, her legs grew numb from kneeling. She took out her phone and checked the time. It was almost five o'clock—time to head back.
Just as she was about to get up, something slammed hard against the back of her neck.
Her vision went black, and she knew no more.
Peter Sinclair tossed the wooden stick to the ground, then crouched beside the girl and nudged her shoulder.
"Brat? Hey, brat?"
The girl didn't respond.
Peter Sinclair let out a sigh of relief. Just then, a panicked Mrs. Lowell appeared with a rope. "Honey, what on earth are you tying her up for? If anyone finds out, our family is finished!"
