Ethan spread the documents across the foundation conference table like he was building a case—which, technically, he was. Derek stood on one side, Tyler Morrison on the other, all three of them bent over decades-old evidence with the intensity of archaeologists discovering a lost city."William Cross," Morrison said, tapping a photograph of a silver-haired man in an expensive suit. "Currently CEO of Cross Development. One of the largest real estate firms on the East Coast. Net worth approximately three billion dollars.""And a murderer," Ethan added, his voice hard."Allegedly," Morrison corrected automatically, though his expression said he believed it. "But with this evidence, we can build a case strong enough to force a real investigation."Derek pulled up a document on his laptop. "Cross Development has been involved in at least thirty major projects over the past forty years. If Thomas found evidence of embezzlement and money laundering in just one of them, imagine what a full fo

Ethan found Isabelle in Marcus's old study, surrounded by file boxes she'd pulled from storage. She looked up when he entered, and something flickered across her face—guilt, maybe, or just exhaustion. He couldn't tell anymore."We need to talk," he said.She closed the folder she'd been reading. "About what?""About why you've been meeting with Harrington family lawyers."The color drained from her face. "Who told you that?""Derek saw you yesterday. Downtown, going into Morrison & Associates." Ethan crossed his arms. "The same firm that handled your grandfather's estate. So I'll ask again: what are you hiding?""I'm not hiding anything." Isabelle stood, defensive. "I'm handling foundation legal issues. Reviewing Marcus's old contracts, making sure everything is properly documented for the transition—""Don't lie to me."The words came out sharper than he intended. Isabelle flinched."I'm not lying.""Then why didn't you tell me you were meeting with lawyers? Why sneak around?""I was

The black sedan appeared in Ethan's rearview mirror on Tuesday morning. He noticed it because of the tinted windows—too dark to be legal in New York, and because it maintained exactly three car lengths behind him for fifteen blocks. When he turned onto Fifth Avenue, it turned. When he slowed for a traffic light, it slowed.By the time he reached the foundation office, his hands were tight on the steering wheel.He told himself he was being paranoid. That black sedans were common in Manhattan. That William Cross wouldn't be stupid enough to have him followed in broad daylight.But Wednesday morning, the same sedan was parked across from his building when he left for work.And Thursday, his email account locked him out with a message about suspicious login attempts from an unfamiliar device. The IT specialist at the foundation spent an hour reviewing the logs before announcing, confused, "Someone tried to access your account from three different IP addresses. Looks like a coordinated at

The cemetery was empty at dusk. Isabelle stood before Marcus's grave, the fresh flowers she'd brought already wilting in the November cold. The headstone was simple, elegant, exactly what Marcus would have wanted: *Marcus Harrington, 1943-2024. Builder of Dreams, Keeper of Secrets.*She'd added that last part herself. The engraver had questioned it, but she'd insisted.Keeper of secrets.Like grandfather, like granddaughter."I paid off the witness," she whispered to the granite. "Robert Chen. Half a million dollars from your discretionary fund. The one you left for emergencies." She laughed bitterly. "Is this what you meant? Is this the kind of emergency you had in mind?"The wind rustled through bare trees. No answer. Just cold silence and the weight of her choices pressing down like earth over a coffin."Ethan thinks William got to him. He's devastated. And I just... I let him believe it." Her voice cracked. "I'm becoming you, aren't I? Keeping secrets to protect the family name. L

At least this way, she could pretend there was still hope. Could tell herself that maybe eventually he'd forgive her, even if he never knew exactly what for.It was a pathetic comfort. But it was all she had left.Isabelle pulled Ethan's pillow to her chest, breathed in the fading scent of him, and let herself cry.For what they'd lost.For what she'd destroyed.For the choice she'd made last night, creating life in the same moment she was killing their relationship.Though she wouldn't know about that consequence for another few weeks yet.Three days of silence. Three days of Ethan in the guest wing and Isabelle in the master bedroom, passing each other in hallways like ghosts. Three days of foundation meetings where they were scrupulously professional and completely, devastatingly distant.Then Ethan's phone rang with a blocked number."Mr. Cole?" The voice was unfamiliar, nervous. "My name is David Torres. I worked with Richard Harrington in the nineties. I heard you were looking f