When Adrian slipped out alone an hour later, a folder clutched tightly beneath his arm, I followed despite every instinct screaming retreat. The harbor stretched before us in dimly lit silence. He moved quickly toward the far end of the wharf where shadows swallowed detail.
Then I saw the man waiting. Evan Smith. Adrian’s brother. Another supposed victim of the same fatal flight. If I had retained even a fragment of rational judgment, I would have turned back. Yet grief had hollowed me into someone driven less by caution than by the unbearable need for truth.
I hid behind a shipping container, close enough to hear fragments carried by the wind.
“She went to the clinic today,” Adrian said tensely.
Evan’s voice remained cold. “That was inevitable.”
“It accelerates everything.”
My blood chilled. Everything? Evan spoke again. “Is she suspicious?”
“No,” Adrian muttered. “But we need everything finalized before the audit. If the firm traces the discrepancies back to me…”
Discrepancies. Financial discrepancies. My breath stalled. Evan’s tone sharpened. “Relax. We planned for this.”
“And Claire?” Adrian whispered.
Silence stretched. “She does not need to know,” Evan replied flatly.