Carver arrived at Aldermere Street at seven the next morning.

He was a lean man with the kind of face that gave nothing away in a crisis, which was exactly why Vittorio had kept him for eleven years.

He set his briefcase on the kitchen table, accepted the coffee Dora offered, and opened a folder without preamble.

"The nine prior transfers," he said.

"They originated from a holding company.

Registered in Marcus's name, but the beneficial owner on the original incorporation documents is Helena."

Vittorio looked up.

"She was paying him through a company he nominally owned."

"Which means if anyone ever questioned the payments, Marcus would appear to be the source.

Not her." Carver turned a page.

"The company was set up three months before Elsie was born."

"Before Elsie was born," Vittorio repeated.

"Yes."

Vittorio stood and walked to the window.

The garden at Aldermere was overgrown.

No one had touched it since his wife passed.

She had loved that garden.

"She planned this before the child existed," he said.

"It appears so."

He turned back.

"What was the purpose?

What did she want Marcus to do — or not do?"

Carver hesitated.

That hesitation, from a man who never hesitated, told Vittorio the answer was worse than he'd prepared for.

"We found correspondence," Carver said.

"Between Helena and a specialist.

A developmental assessment clinic.

The correspondence begins when Elsie was eight months old." He slid a printed page across the table.

"Helena was attempting to have Elsie formally diagnosed with a severe developmental disorder.

She visited three clinics.

The first two declined to provide the diagnosis she was seeking.

The third—"

"Provided it."

"Provided a partial assessment.

Inconclusive.

But Helena has been using that assessment in communications with Marcus ever since.

Telling him Elsie's behaviors were symptoms.

That intervention was medically appropriate.

That if he interfered, he was working against his daughter's treatment."

Vittorio sat back down.

He looked at the page without picking it up.

"She convinced him it was therapy," he said.

"We believe so.

Whether Marcus fully believed it or chose to believe it because it was convenient — that distinction matters legally."

"It matters to me too," Vittorio said.

"For different reasons."

Carver closed the folder.

"There's one more thing.

Helena's counter-claim about the household logs being falsified — she has a witness.

A former staff member who left the household six months ago.

This person is prepared to testify that Rosa had a personal conflict with Helena and kept unofficial records as leverage."

"Is it true?"

"Rosa has been entirely consistent in every account she's given us.

The logs match the video timestamps exactly.

The falsification claim will not hold." Carver paused.

"But it will slow things down.

Helena knows that.

She's not trying to win on that point.

She's trying to buy time."

"For what?"

Carver looked at him steadily.

"We think she's trying to move money.

Before a court can freeze the holding company's assets."

Vittorio picked up his phone.

"How much time do we have?"

"If she filed the transfer requests yesterday evening — which our source at the bank believes she did — we have until close of business today before those funds move beyond easy reach."

Vittorio was already dialing.

"Get me an emergency injunction.

Whatever you need from me, I'll sign it in the next thirty minutes."

Carver was already opening his briefcase again.

"I had the paperwork drawn up on the way here."

Vittorio looked at him.

"You were certain I'd want it."

"I've worked for you for eleven years," Carver said.

"I was certain."

Upstairs, a small pair of feet hit the floor.

Then silence.

Then the sound of a door opening slowly.

Elsie appeared at the top of the stairs in the oversized pajamas Rosa had found for her the night before.

She looked down at her grandfather at the kitchen table.

"Grandpa," she said.

"Is this our house now?"

Vittorio looked up at her.

"For as long as you need it," he said.

She considered this with great seriousness.

Then she came down the stairs one careful step at a time, holding the railing with both hands.

She climbed into the chair beside him and looked at the papers on the table.

"Are you doing work?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Is it about me?"

He looked at her.

"It's about making sure you're safe."

She nodded slowly.

Then she picked up a pen from beside the folder, turned over a blank page, and began to draw.

Vittorio watched her for a moment.

Then he signed the injunction papers Carver slid toward him.

His phone rang.

Marcus.

He let it ring.