The Frozen Claim

Brooke reached Lila's building eight minutes after Nora texted the address and sixteen minutes after deciding she was probably risking her job.

Her official route was clear: notify police, request support, preserve her authority. Her actual route was messier. If Harbor Union's old file had been altered from inside, any formal request might warn the person who had done it.

She parked behind the nail salon and found Nora's car too exposed on the street.

Upstairs, Lila stopped talking when Brooke entered.

"You brought her?" Lila asked.

"She brought herself," Nora said.

Brooke showed her badge. "Lila Hart, I need to verify you are safe."

Lila laughed without humor. "That is not a service your company provides."

Brooke accepted the hit because it was earned by someone, even if not by her. "Did Miles Vale stage his first death?"

"Ask your files."

"My files lie beautifully."

Lila studied her then. Nora saw calculation pass between the two women, not trust but the possibility of usefulness.

"Miles was in SIU before you," Lila said. "Not officially by the end. He got too close to a settlement broker feeding Kind Harbor patients into policies. He needed a dead identity to see who collected."

"And you posed as widow."

"I signed as widow because the only other option was testifying while Judith Vale still owned half the rooms where dying people signed things."

Brooke's pen froze. "Judith owned Kind Harbor?"

"Not on paper."

"Of course."

Nora had heard enough paper for one lifetime. "Why did Miles marry me if he knew this was still open?"

Lila looked at her with something gentler than pity. "Because you were real. That was always his weakness."

A sound came from downstairs.

Not a knock. A door forced open below them, wood cracking, then heavy steps in the stairwell.

Lila grabbed a backpack from under the table. Brooke drew a compact black baton from inside her coat.

Nora backed toward the kitchen window.

Lila whispered, "Fire escape."