Isabella stared at her uncle, the shock of seeing him alive warring with the betrayal of Marcus standing stoically behind her. For fifteen years, she had believed Richard dead—a victim of the same tragic "accident" that had claimed her mother.
"You seem surprised," Richard said, his thin smile never reaching his cold blue eyes. "Did you think I would stay away forever? That I would allow you to profit from what you did?"
Isabella's mind raced. "What I did? Uncle Richard, I mourned you. Everyone did."
Richard's face darkened, his composed demeanor cracking slightly. "Mourned me? Like you mourned your father?" He stood suddenly, his palms flat against the desk. "Don't play innocent with me, Isabella. Not after what you did to my brother."
"My father died of a heart attack," Isabella replied carefully, watching his reaction.
