My hands curled once against the armrests.
“A video?”
“Yes.”
“Have you watched it?”
“Only with the forensic team.”
“What’s on it?”
She exchanged a look with the analyst.
“Elise.”
“The financial records suggest Evan was investigating a trust created before the twins were born. The trust involved Anna Vale Bennett, Claire’s family, and an offshore structure connected to the same network Evan warned you about years ago.”
I sat back slowly.
“Claire’s family?”
“Her maiden name is Whitcomb.”
That name I knew.
Old money. Quiet money. The kind that moved through foundations, boards, private schools, and charity galas without ever appearing too hungry. The Whitcombs were not loud enough to be infamous. They were too careful for that.
“What did they want with Evan?”
“It may not have started with Evan,” Elise said. “It may have started with Anna.”
The analyst opened the laptop and turned it toward me.
“We can show the beginning of the video,” he said. “The full file is being reviewed for admissibility and relevance, but Mr. Bennett addressed portions directly to you.”
The screen went black for a second.
Then Evan appeared.
Alive.
He sat in what looked like a basement or storage room. His hair was disheveled, his face thinner than I remembered, his blue eyes ringed with exhaustion. Somewhere nearby, a furnace hummed.
He looked into the camera and tried to smile.
