The morning sun filtered through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow over the room that had once been the heart of the Henderson home. Mrs. Henderson sat at the table, her hands trembling as she clutched a steaming mug of tea. It had been more than a month, and the pain of that night's events played on a torturous loop in her mind, the images searing into her consciousness like a scar. Liam's lifeless form. Emma's terrified sobs. Aiko was covered in blood that was not her own.

Better keep it together, Helen.

A choked sound escaped Mrs. Henderson's lips as she fought against the tidal wave of grief that threatened to consume her once more. How could this have happened? One moment, they were an ordinary family going about their lives, and the next, everything had been torn asunder by unfathomable violence caused by her brother Jack.

I should have never let him stay here. Is that my punishment for trying to be a righteous person?

The shrill ring of the doorbell cut through the heavy silence, jolting Mrs. Henderson from her reverie. She rose on unsteady legs, her heart pounding in her chest as she made her way to the front door. She peered through the peephole and saw a well-dressed man standing on the porch with an expensive-looking briefcase.

With a steadying breath, she opened the door, her eyes narrowing against the bright morning light. "Can I help you?"

The man offered a polite smile, extending his hand.

"Mrs. Henderson, I presume? Malcolm Whitmore, at your service. I couldn't help but notice the 'For Sale' sign on your property as I was passing through."

Mrs. Henderson's brow furrowed as she studied the man before her. Something about his demeanor was a certain slickness that set her on edge. "I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding, Mr. Whitmore. The farm is not for sale."

Malcolm's smile didn't waver, his eyes glinting with a predatory gleam. "Ah, but I think you'll want to hear my offer." He reached into his briefcase and withdrew a sheaf of papers. "I'm prepared to offer you five million dollars for the property and a sizable donation to a charity of your choice."

Mrs. Henderson's breath caught in her throat as the staggering sum registered. Five million dollars? It was more money than she could have ever imagined. This life-changing amount could secure her family's future for generations to come.

And yet, something nagged at her, a sense of unease that she couldn't quite shake. "A charity, you say?"

Malcolm nodded, his expression one of practiced sincerity. "Indeed. I understand you are passionate about helping underprivileged children, a noble cause if there is ever one. With my resources, we could make a real difference in the lives of those less fortunate."

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Mrs. Henderson's heart clenched at the mention of her life's work. It was true; she dedicated herself to fostering children in need, providing them a loving home and a chance at a better life. Liam had been one of those children, a bright and beautiful soul who had been taken from them far too soon.

"Mom?"

She turned to see Annabelle and Emma standing in the doorway, their eyes wide with concern. Annabelle stepped forward, her gaze flickering between her mother and the stranger on the porch.

"Who is this man?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Malcolm offered a disarming smile. "Malcolm Whitmore, my dear. I was just discussing a potential business opportunity with your mother."

Emma's brow furrowed as she studied the contract in Malcolm's hand. "Mom, you can't be thinking of selling the farm, can you? Not after..."

Her voice trailed off, but the implication hung heavy in the air, not after Liam's death, not after the unimaginable tragedy that had torn their family asunder.

Mrs. Henderson felt her resolve wavering, torn between the allure of Malcolm's offer and her deep-seated loyalty to her family, especially to Aiko, who had become as dear to her as any of her own children.

"There's just one small caveat," Malcolm interjected smoothly. "In exchange for my generous offer, I would require your cooperation in an upcoming legal matter."

He flipped through the contract pages, his finger resting on a single clause. "You must testify against Aiko Takahashi in her upcoming trial."

The words hit Mrs. Henderson like a physical blow, the air leaving her lungs in a rush. Testify against Aiko? The girl who had become a part of their family, who had endured unspeakable horrors at the hands of that monster, Jack?

"No," Annabelle breathed, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Mom, you can't seriously be considering this. Aiko is one of us!"

Emma nodded vehemently, her lower lip trembling. "She would never hurt us, Mom. You know that."

Mrs. Henderson's gaze flickered between her daughters and the enigmatic Malcolm Whitmore. Doubt gnawed at her, a serpent of uncertainty coiling in her gut. Aiko had been there, covered in blood, in the same room where Liam had breathed his last. The memory of her son's lifeless eyes, glazed and unseeing, threatened to overwhelm her once more.

"Didn't the police find Aiko in a pool of blood near the bodies?" Malcolm pressed, his voice low and insistent.

Mrs. Henderson felt the world tilting on its axis, her carefully constructed reality crumbling around her. Aiko was family, a daughter in all but blood. And yet, the evidence seemed damning, the implications too horrific to contemplate.

Tears burned in her eyes as she met Malcolm's calculating gaze. "I... I need time to think about this," she managed, her voice little more than a whisper.

Malcolm's smile was all teeth, a predator scenting weakness in its prey. "Of course," he purred. "You have twenty-four hours to consider my offer. I trust you'll make the right decision, Mrs. Henderson."

With a curt nod, he turned and strode away, leaving Mrs. Henderson on the porch, her world in tatters around her. Annabelle and Emma rushed to her side, their arms encircling her in a fierce embrace as the sobs finally broke free, racking her body with the force of her anguish.

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From the shadows of the porch, Malcolm allowed himself a thin smile as he watched the scene unfold. His gaze flickered to the corner of the house, where he caught a glimpse of movement, a flash of blonde hair disappearing around the corner.

Annabelle.

His smile widened, a serpent's smile, as he made a mental note to keep a close eye on the girl. She could prove helpful in the coming days, a pawn in his ever-expanding chess game.

With a final glance at the grieving family, Malcolm turned and made his way to his waiting car, already formulating his next move. The pieces fell into place, and his grand design would soon be realized.

No one could stand in his way, not even the family bonds.