Derek Madden had been stealing from his father for two years.

Not clumsily.

Not desperately.

Carefully — the way a man steals when he believes he is simply taking early what is already owed to him.

It had started with a subsidiary.

A small logistics company Walter had acquired in 2019, more as a favor to an old colleague than as a serious investment.

Derek had been given operational oversight as a test — Walter's word for it, though he hadn't told Derek that.

He'd wanted to see what his son would do with something real.

What Derek did was create a parallel vendor account, funnel service contracts to a shell company registered in his girlfriend's maiden name, and skim eleven percent off every transaction for eighteen months before Walter's internal auditor flagged an anomaly in the quarterly report.

"How much?" Claire asked.

"By the time we traced it fully — just over two million dollars."

Claire set her coffee down.

"I confronted him," Walter said.

"In this office.

Sat him in that chair." He nodded toward the chair Claire was sitting in.

She didn't move.

"I showed him the audit.

Every page.

I gave him the chance to explain."

"What did he say?"

"He said I owed it to him." Walter's voice was flat.

"He said I had spent his entire childhood building something I never let him touch, and that taking a percentage was no different from a salary I'd never bothered to pay." He paused.

"He said his mother would have understood."

"He used Eleanor against you."

"Yes." Walter was quiet for a moment.

"And it worked.

For a while." He looked at his hands.

"I told him to stop.

I told him I would restructure the oversight, close the vendor account, and that if he came to me directly when he needed something, I would consider it.

I thought — I believed — that was the end of it."

"It wasn't."

"No." Walter stood again.

He seemed to think better on his feet.

"Six months later, my estate attorney called me.

Someone had been making inquiries.

Asking questions about the trust structure, the succession clauses, what conditions would trigger an early transfer of assets." He turned.

"The inquiries were made through a third party, but the third party's firm had done work for Derek twice before.

It wasn't difficult to trace."

"He was looking for a way to take control while you were still alive," Claire said.

"He was looking for a way to have me declared unfit." Walter said it without drama, which somehow made it worse.

"Mentally diminished.

Unable to manage my own affairs.

There are legal mechanisms — if the right people make the right statements, if a pattern of behavior can be established — a man can lose control of everything he built while he's still sitting in his own office."

Claire thought about the phone call twenty minutes ago.

Richard Hargrove.

Seven a.m.

*An episode.

Wandering in the rain.*

"Last night wasn't the first time he's tried to use your behavior against you," she said.

"No.

There have been three incidents in the past four months.

Each one reported to someone on my board.

Each one framed as concern." Walter's mouth tightened.

"My son is not stupid.

He's patient.

He's building a file."

A knock at the door.

Patricia opened it.

"Mr.

Aldridge is here."

Walter straightened.

"Send him in."

The lawyer was a compact man in his sixties with the kind of stillness that came from spending decades in rooms where the wrong word cost millions.

He shook Walter's hand, nodded at Claire with professional neutrality, and set his briefcase on the conference table along the far wall.

"Walter," he said.

"Before we begin — Derek's attorney called my office this morning."

Walter didn't look surprised.

"What did he want?"

"He requested a copy of the current will.

He cited your — and again, I'm quoting — your *recent erratic behavior* as grounds for a potential competency review." Aldridge's voice was careful and precise.

"He's filed a preliminary motion."

The room went still.

Claire looked at Walter.

His face had not changed.

Not a flicker.

"Good," Walter said.

Aldridge blinked.

"Good?"

"It means he's moving faster than he planned." Walter sat down.

"Which means he's rattled." He looked at Claire, and for the first time that morning, something in his expression came close to calm.

"He doesn't know she's here," he said.

"He doesn't know what I'm about to do.

And by the time he finds out—"

He looked at Aldridge.

"—it will already be done."

Aldridge opened his briefcase.

"Then let's not waste time," he said.