Richard Holt did not answer his phone.

That was the first thing the federal investigator — her name was Agent Carla Simmons — told Adrian when she stepped away from her call at twelve-thirty.

"His personal line, his office line, and his attorney's line all went to voicemail within the same ten-minute window," she said.

"That's not coincidence."

"He's running," Paul said.

"He's trying to." Agent Simmons looked at the documents spread across the table.

"With what Mr.

Reeves has provided and the contents of the drive, we have enough for a warrant.

The question is whether we can execute it before he moves assets or leaves the country."

"He has a private airfield," Adrian said.

"In Connecticut.

He's used it to avoid press before."

Agent Simmons was already on her phone.

Vanessa had been brought back from the station at eleven, accompanied by a lawyer — a sharp-faced woman named Claire Dodd who had said almost nothing since arriving.

They sat together in the corner of the room, Vanessa with her hands folded in her lap, watching the activity around the table with an expression that had gone very still.

Paul crossed to them.

"Ms.

Sterling.

Given the scope of what's been established this morning, your client's cooperation becomes significantly more valuable in the next few hours than it will be tomorrow."

Claire Dodd looked at Vanessa.

A silent exchange.

Vanessa looked at the table.

At the documents.

At Thomas Reeves, who had not looked at her once since arriving.

"What are you offering?" Claire asked.

"That depends on what she gives us," Paul said.

"But I'll tell you what she doesn't give us if she waits — the option to be seen as anything other than a primary actor."

Another silence.

Vanessa's hands unfolded.

She pressed them flat against her knees.

"Richard told me Elena had found the Crestline records," she said.

Her voice was very quiet.

"He said he needed to move quickly.

He said he had a contact — someone with access to her medical team." She stopped.

"Keep going," Claire said softly.

"He said it would look natural.

He said she was already ill." Vanessa looked at the table.

"I didn't ask what he meant.

I told myself I didn't know.

But I knew." Her voice dropped further.

"I knew what he meant and I didn't stop it."

The room was completely silent.

Adrian was standing by the window.

He didn't turn around.

"And Oliver?" Paul asked.

Vanessa's breath came out unevenly.

"Richard said the inheritance structure had to be broken.

He said if Oliver d*ed before the age of one, the estate defaulted to a secondary trust that Crestline had partial claim over.

He said—" She stopped again.

"He said it needed to happen before the boy's first birthday."

Maria's arms tightened around Oliver.

"He told you to do it," Adrian said.

He still hadn't turned from the window.

"Yes."

"And you agreed."

Vanessa didn't answer.

"Look at me," Adrian said.

She looked.

His face was composed.

Completely composed.

That was somehow worse than anger.

"You agreed to k*ll my son."

"I—" Her voice broke.

"I couldn't do it.

When I was standing there, holding him — I couldn't.

I told myself if I just dropped him, just scared him, Maria would catch him and it would look like an accident and I could tell Richard it was done and he would—"

"Stop." Adrian's voice was very quiet.

"I don't want to hear the rest of that."

He turned back to the window.

Agent Simmons stepped back into the room.

"Warrant's been approved.

They're at the airfield." A pause.

"He was there.

He didn't make it to the plane."

Nobody cheered.

Nobody said anything at all.

Oliver reached up and patted Maria's cheek with one open hand.

She caught his hand and held it.

Outside, it had started to rain.