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“She knew Sophia was coming,” he says. “Which means someone warned her.”
Adrian.
Of course Adrian.
He must have learned the moment Sophia stepped into the cemetery or perhaps earlier, through the marina calls, through Rebecca’s panic, through the same channels he used to keep her hidden while you were still laying roses at a grave that may not even contain the woman you loved. And if he came here afterward, into Rebecca’s old room, then he was not grieving or reminiscing or protecting you from another shock.
He was erasing.
You stand again.
“Get Adrian on the phone.”
Daniel is already dialing.
The call goes unanswered the first time. On the second, it rolls to voicemail. On the third, the line connects, but all you hear is a burst of static and then your brother’s voice, too quick, too smooth, too prepared.
“Jude, I’m in a meeting. Is this urgent?”
You look at Rebecca’s face on the false passport while you answer.
“Yes.”
There is a pause. Very small. Very human. Just enough to tell you that panic traveled across the line before self-control caught up.
“What happened?”
“You tell me,” you say. “Why did your credentials open Rebecca’s private wing forty minutes ago?”
Silence.
Then Adrian laughs. Softly. Like a man trying to create a world in which questions sound ridiculous enough to spare him from answering them.
“There must be some kind of system error.”
“No,” you say. “There’s a photograph of you kissing my dead wife.”
This time the silence is longer.
When Adrian speaks again, the warmth is gone.
“You need to calm down.”
You almost admire the instinct.
There it is, the old move of guilty men with good tailoring and too much practice. Control the tone. Minimize the facts. Suggest hysteria before accountability can fully enter the room.
“Where are you?” you ask.
“At the office.”
Daniel shakes his head before Adrian even finishes.
His tracker team already has the tower ping.
Not the office.
Teterboro.
Of course.
An airfield would make sense for a man trying to stay just ahead of the truth he helped bury.
“Stay there,” you say.
Adrian doesn’t answer. The line goes dead.
Daniel turns toward you.
“We can have a team at the hangar in fifteen minutes.”
You look again at Sophia.
Her face is pale now, but not from regret. From the kind of fear that only comes when you realize the lie you walked into is larger than even your worst guess. She is still holding the blanket closed at her throat with one small fist. She has done the hardest part already and has not once asked you for anything.
“What’s at Greyhaven?” you ask her.
She blinks.
“A cottage on the back marina road. She kept another safe there. I think she was waiting for someone.”
You nod slowly.
Not just Adrian. Not just money. An exit.
If Rebecca bolted this morning after Sophia took the bracelet, then Adrian’s trip into the east wing was likely retrieval. Cash, IDs, notebooks, anything he needed to get her moving before you saw the truth. He failed because Daniel’s sensors moved faster than panic.
Now their clock is running.
“Daniel,” you say, “call the Bureau liaison. Financial crimes, identity fraud, all of it. Lock every Nelson account Adrian can touch. Freeze any outgoing transfers over ten thousand. And get the jet ready.”
Sophia looks at you.
“You’re going to Greyhaven?”
“Yes.”
She swallows.
“She’ll run if she sees strangers.”
“You’re coming with me.”