Clara was waiting outside the care facility when Adrian arrived.

She had Mia on her hip and her phone in her other hand.

Her face was the face of someone who had been managing fear for the past hour and was very tired of it.

"What happened?" Adrian said.

"A woman came this morning.

About two hours after you left yesterday.

She said she was from the facility's administrative office — said there was a billing issue, that she needed to speak with the patient's next of kin." Clara's jaw tightened.

"There is no billing issue.

I checked with the actual administrative office.

They sent no one."

"Did she get in?"

"She got as far as the front desk.

The receptionist asked for her ID.

She said she'd left it in her car.

She never came back."

"Did anyone get a description?"

"The receptionist remembered her.

Late forties.

Well dressed.

She left a card." Clara held it out.

Adrian looked at it.

A name he didn't recognize.

A consultancy firm he'd never heard of.

But the phone number had a prefix he knew.

It was the same exchange as Daniel Frey's number from that morning.

"She was trying to get to Elise," Adrian said.

"Or to the children's records.

Their legal status — it's not formalized yet.

There's no documentation connecting you to them.

If someone wanted to complicate that process—"

"They could." Adrian looked at the building.

"Is Elise inside?"

"Yes.

I didn't tell her.

I didn't want to frighten her."

"Good." He thought for a moment.

"I need to make a call.

Can you take the children inside?"

Clara nodded and went in.

Adrian stayed on the steps and called his lawyer.

"She sent someone to the care facility," he said when the call connected.

"Posing as administrative staff.

Trying to access Elise or the children's records."

A pause.

"That's a significant escalation."

"I need two things.

First, I need emergency legal guardianship documentation for Noah and Mia — something that establishes my connection to them formally and immediately.

Second, I need to know if what she did this morning constitutes a criminal act."

"The guardianship I can start today.

As for the facility visit — if she was impersonating official staff to gain access to a vulnerable patient, that's potentially fraud and possibly a violation of patient privacy law.

Combined with the forgery filing, it strengthens the picture considerably."

"Then add it."

"Adrian — is Elise in a position to give a statement?

Her account of what she was shown four years ago, the documents, what she was told — that's the core of the forgery case."

Adrian was quiet for a moment.

"She has good days and bad days.

I'll ask her.

But carefully."

"Whenever she's ready.

There's no rush on that piece."

He hung up and went inside.

Elise was in her chair by the window.

Noah was on the floor beside her, working on something in a notebook.

Mia was asleep on the bed.

Clara sat near the door, watching Adrian's face as he came in.

Elise looked up at him.

"You have your serious expression on," she said.

"You always did that when something was wrong and you didn't want to say it."

He sat down across from her.

"Someone came to the facility this morning.

Pretending to be from the administration.

We think she was sent by Victoria."

Elise's hands went still in her lap.

"What did she want?"

"We don't know exactly.

She didn't get past the front desk."

Elise looked at Noah.

The boy hadn't looked up from his notebook, but his pencil had stopped moving.

"She's not going to stop," Elise said quietly.

"No.

She's not."

"Then what do we do?"

Adrian leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"I need to ask you something difficult.

And I need you to tell me honestly if you're not ready."

Elise met his eyes.

"The documents she showed you four years ago — the ones with my signature.

Do you still have them?"

A long pause.

"I kept everything," Elise said.

"I don't know why.

I just couldn't throw them away." She glanced toward the small wardrobe in the corner of the room.

"They're in a folder.

At the back, behind my winter things."

Adrian looked at the wardrobe.

"May I?"

She nodded.

He crossed the room, opened the wardrobe, and reached behind the folded clothes until his hand found the folder.

He brought it out and opened it on the table.

The documents were there.

Three pages.

His name printed clearly at the bottom of each one.

The signatures were good — very good.

Someone had studied his handwriting carefully.

But they had gotten one thing wrong.

Adrian looked at the third page for a long moment.

"Elise.

Do you see the date on this document?"

She leaned forward.

"Yes."

"I was in Singapore on that date.

For ten days.

I have passport records, hotel records, and forty-seven emails sent from that time zone." He set the page down.

"Whoever signed this was not me.

And now we can prove it."

Noah finally looked up from his notebook.

He looked at his mother.

Then at Adrian.

"Is she going to go to jail?" he asked.

Adrian looked at the boy.

"That's not for me to decide," he said carefully.

"But the people whose job it is to decide — they're going to know everything."

Noah looked back down at his notebook.

He picked up his pencil.

After a moment, he started drawing again.

Adrian looked at Elise.

She was looking at the documents on the table.

Then she looked at him.

"I believed them," she said.

"For four years, I believed you had signed those and walked away."

"I know."

"I was so angry at you.

For so long."

"I know that too."

"And then I got sick, and I couldn't even stay angry properly.

Some days I'd wake up and I'd forgotten I was angry.

I'd just — miss you.

Like it was the beginning again."

Adrian didn't say anything.

There was nothing to say that would be adequate.

"I don't want to be angry anymore," Elise said.

"I'm too tired for it."

"Then don't be," he said.

"Save your energy for something better."

She looked at him for a long moment.

Outside the window, the garden was very still.

A bird landed on the low fence at the edge of the path, looked around once, and flew away.

Elise reached out and put her hand over his.

Neither of them moved.