“You are.”
“Don’t make it strange.”
“It’s already strange.”
I glanced at him.
He nodded toward the children. “Good strange.”
Owen tripped and fell, palms first into the grass.
Everyone froze for half a beat.
Then Nathan walked over calmly. “You okay, buddy?”
Owen looked at his hands.
No blood.
No tears.
He looked at Nathan. Then at me.
“I fell.”
“I saw,” Nathan said.
“Am I in trouble?”
Nathan sat down in the grass beside him. “
For falling?”
Owen shrugged.
“No,” Nathan said. “Grass gets lonely. Sometimes people visit.”
Owen stared.
Then he laughed.
Lily dropped beside him dramatically. “I’m visiting too!”
Nathan fell back on the grass with an exaggerated groan.
Soon both children were laughing on top of him, and Marco looked away quickly.
I pretended not to notice his eyes had gone wet.
That afternoon, Owen handed me a dandelion.
It was half crushed.
“For your office,” he said.
“My office may not deserve something this nice.”
“Then put it somewhere else.”
“Good advice.”
Lily ran up with three more. “You need a family of flowers.”
I took them carefully.
That night, I placed all four dandelions in a glass of water on my kitchen island.
They looked absurd there beneath the modern pendant lights, surrounded by marble, steel, and silence.
They also looked like the first honest decoration the place had ever
had.
The flash drive report came in on a rainy Tuesday.
Elise called me to her office instead of coming to mine.
That alone told me enough.
Her conference room had glass walls and a view of the river. The sky beyond was low and pewter-colored, and the water below moved in restless dark folds.
A forensic analyst sat beside her with a laptop closed in front of him.
Maya was present by video. So was a representative from the court-appointed team. Everything was formal, documented, careful.
I sat.
Elise began without preamble.
“The drive contains financial records, scanned documents, audio files, and a video message from Evan.”
My hands curled once against the armrests.
“A video?”
“Yes.”
“Have you watched it?”
“Only with the forensic team.”
“What’s on it?”
She exchanged a look with the analyst.
“Elise.”
“The financial records suggest Evan was investigating a trust created before the
twins were born. The trust involved Anna Vale Bennett, Claire’s family, and an offshore structure connected to the same network Evan warned you about years ago.”
I sat back slowly.
“Claire’s family?”
“Her maiden name is Whitcomb.”
That name I knew.
Old money. Quiet money. The kind that moved through foundations, boards, private schools, and charity galas without ever appearing too hungry. The Whitcombs were not loud enough to be infamous. They were too careful for that.
