Ethan was cooperating.
Caleb was detained.
Daniel was under investigation.
Rebecca was cooperating.
So who remained?
The answer arrived with a forensic report.
The service-door access had been triggered remotely.
Nobody entered through it.
A second entry came from the building’s freight elevator.
That badge belonged to a delivery contractor.
The contractor was found unconscious in his van six blocks away.
Alive.
Drugged.
His uniform was missing.
This was no longer only white-collar crime.
Someone had escalated.
Police pulled traffic cameras.
The person leaving my building wore a cap and mask.
But height and movement gave clues.
Approximately six feet.
Lean.
Left-handed.
Then the investigator showed me one still image.
The man was carrying something beneath his arm.
A folder.
From my apartment.
I knew what was inside before I checked.
My personal estate file was gone.
Not the original trust documents.
Those were held by counsel.
But copies.
Beneficiary information.
Property schedules.
Insurance.
The Naomi trust.
Somebody still wanted that trust.
My attorney reviewed the documents remotely.
Then she called.
“Simone, I think I know.”
“The trust holds twelve percent of Carter Retail voting shares.”
“If you become incapacitated, voting control passes temporarily.”
“To the foundation board.”
“Not exactly.”
“There’s an emergency custodian provision.”
I had forgotten.
Written nineteen years ago.
“If no successor trustee is immediately available, temporary voting authority goes to the foundation treasurer.”
“Who is treasurer?”
Then I knew.
Rebecca had changed officers last year.
I hadn’t reviewed it.
“That’s impossible.”
“He was appointed after the anonymous donation package.”
Adrian had not needed the fake amendment.
He already had a path.
Smaller.
Temporary.
But enough.
If I became incapacitated, he could temporarily control twelve percent of Carter voting stock.
Combined with Daniel’s shares and sympathetic directors, maybe enough to challenge me.
That explained the medical file.
The emotional instability narrative.
Maybe he didn’t need me dead.
He needed me declared unable to serve.
“Can you remove him?”
I called an emergency foundation meeting.
Within one hour, Adrian was removed as treasurer.
All authority suspended.
The loophole closed.
For the first time, I felt ahead of him.
Then Victoria called.
Her voice was frantic.
“I found something in my email.”
“An invitation Adrian sent six months ago.”
“To what?”
“A dinner.”
“Because the guest list is attached.”
I opened the file she forwarded.
Twenty names.
Most meant nothing.
One stopped me.
Dr. Stephen Hall.
I knew that name.
He had treated me after Naomi died.
My psychiatrist.
Retired now.
My entire body went cold.
Then I saw another attachment.
A payment record.
Lark Advisory to Hall Consulting.
Fifty thousand dollars.
Richard whispered, “What is it?”
“Adrian bought access to my mental health history.”
The phone rang again.
Unknown number.
A man said:
“Ms. Carter, this is Stephen Hall.”
My blood froze.
“I need to tell you what I did.”
Chapter 9
Dr. Hall sounded old.
Older than I remembered.
Guilty too.
I put the call on speaker with my attorney present.
He took a breath.
“Mr. Cole contacted me last year.”
“He said he was conducting executive wellness research.”
“You believed that?”
At least he didn’t lie.
“Then why did you speak to him?”
“Money.”
The word came quietly.
A career destroyed for fifty thousand dollars.
“What did you give him?”
“Nothing from your formal records.”
My attorney interrupted.
“That distinction matters legally.”
Hall continued.
“I discussed my impressions.”
“Of me?”
“From nineteen years ago.”
“Did you tell him I was unstable?”
“Did you tell him I was depressed?”
“You were.”
“I was grieving my dead baby.”
Richard’s jaw tightened.
Hall’s voice cracked.
“Did you tell him I had suicidal thoughts?”
My throat closed.
I had.
For one terrible week after Naomi died.
Thoughts.
Not attempts.
Not plans.