"And an accomplice," Dante added.

"Perhaps," Bastian agreed.  "But that's beside the point.  We have bigger fish to fry.  Fanny is a witness, and more, she recorded Adelaide talking about Gram's death and what she says on it is as good as a confession.  At the very least, it will forever ruin her reputation.  In addition, Fanny has agreed not to testify against either of you in the death of Detective Harris, which is a valuable thing, being that she personally witnessed parts of the crime.  It was one of the most damning pieces of evidence Adelaide had on you, that in addition to the pictures taken, the photographer of said pictures," he waved his hand at Tiffany, "was a witness in her pocket." 

"It won't matter whether she takes Adelaide's side or not," Dante pointed out.  "Those pictures say enough.  Enough to need an explanation."

"Ah.  But there it is.  There's no proof at all at this point that Scarlett was involved.  They can prove what happened.  And where.  Everything else is debatable, even with the pictures.  All of the DNA has deteriorated by now.  Anyone could have done it.

"I doubt that will fly," I said.  "She brings those pictures in, they're going to want a culprit, and they won't have to look far beyond me." 

"Yes.  True.  But you didn't even live in that trailer at the time, correct?" 

"Correct," I agreed, staring at him.  His attention to detail was kind of scary. 

"Someone else lived there," he continued.  "Correct?" 

"Yes, but it was just my grandma." 

He nodded, eyes steady on me.  "And we will get to that.  Step one is Tiffany's cooperation.  And we have it.  All she wants is the Durant name." 

My eyes were on him when I caught it, when I saw what he was getting at.  His mouth twisted when he saw he'd gotten his point across.  "Yes.  Me.  I'm a bastard, which she does not prefer, but I've still been allowed to carry the name, and so will she."    

"No, Bastian," I said, and I couldn't hide my horror or my weakness in the words.  It was too much of a sacrifice.  It was too unfair. 

"Yes," he countered.  "It's the solution to our problems, and it's better me than Dante.  If I had what you had, I would not do this.  I'm doing this to save what you have.  I'm doing this because I believe in it, even if it's something I can never have for myself." 

There was such a deep-seated sentimentality to his words.  They felt so personal, and a hundred things I'd overlooked clicked into place at once. 

Bastian had feelings for me.  Old and deep ones.  He must have for some time, though we hadn't spent any real time together in years, and never without Dante. 

Dante.  So that's where the resentment for his half-brother came from.  Not from some family rivalry or Durant snobbery.  It was always about me. 

"I'm so sorry," I said to Bastian, and it had too many meanings for me to ever articulate.   

"I want you to be happy," he said simply.  "I want you to finally get back what was stolen from you." 

That was impossible, but even so, his sacrifice was significant.  Life changing. 

Unacceptable.

"Don't you feel a little pathetic blackmailing someone into marrying you?" I asked Tiffany.

"Winning doesn't make me pathetic."

Jesus, some people you couldn't even insult.

"No."  I was shaking my head.  "We can't let you do this."

"You also can't stop me," he said it with resigned bitterness.  "This is a part of the solution that cannot be screwed up.  Without Tiffany, all of the rest could easily get away from us." 

He had a very good point.  But it was so wrong.  He deserved so much better.

I swallowed the bitter pill and tasted it all the way down.

"We have two confessions.  And a witness," he said, as though that settled it all.  

"You should have been a lawyer," I told him.

"Yeah probably," he agreed with a sad smile. 

It took me a minute to catch it, but then, "Two confessions?" 

He was back to studying my face intently as he said, "Yes.  Two.  Adelaide incriminating herself in the death of Gram.  And, I'm sorry I'm the one to tell you this, there's no easy way to say it, but also, your grandma." 

I was so confused I thought I'd misheard him.  "My grandma?"  The words made no more sense to me when I said them.

"Yes.  Glenda's going to confess to killing Detective Harris.  In self-defense." 

If Dante hadn't still been holding me, I thought I'd have needed to sit down.  I doubted I was holding any of my own weight.  "I don't understand," I said finally.  Nothing made sense. 

"This can no longer be used to hurt you, to be held over your head, if someone else confesses to it.  Glenda has agreed to confess.  We worked on the story.  It doesn't incriminate you in any way.  You're free and clear." 

I realized suddenly that Dante had had no reaction to anything for quite some time.  He'd known most of it.  I shouldn't have been so shocked by that. 

Actually I wasn't.  I was still just reeling from the idea of my grandma doing something completely selfless that would help me. 

"Why would my grandma do that?" I asked no one in particular.